Triple Case
by Drakendottir
Summary: As several incidents all over the US are being traced back to an outbreaking drug-cartell conflict, two NCIS-Teams are forced to work together with the Hawaii Five-0 Team in order to solve the mystery and prevent open war in the streets. Little do they know that what they are about to discover might not only threaten civil lives, but also the integrity of MDPD and even the FBI.
1. Cover blown

Hey guys,

I am still very new to this, so it would be great if some of you could read and review my story. Of course I hope you all enjoy it.

I also have to admit that I am no native English speaker, let alone writer, so any corrections on grammar, vocabulary, idioms etc. are most welcome! I am trying to learn, so don't spare me any criticism. Thanks to all of you!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1: Cover blown**

****_Safe house of LAPD in Santa Monica (L.A.) | Friday, 8th July 2011, ca. 08:00 am _

"Oh, crap!" Deeks looked at the toaster with disgust, then took out his charred toast nevertheless, frowning at it. Should he eat it, or was it an even better idea to just throw it into the trash bin?

With a little sniff, Monty weaselled towards him, wagging its tail as quickly as a propeller. Deeks grinned broadly. That dog… even better than a trash bin! "Who's a good boy, eh, Monty? Who's a good boy?" As the dog danced around, staring at the burned toast hungrily – seemingly starving! – the Detective copied his pet's movements almost perfectly, playing around and making weird faces, until Monty finally jumped high enough to get to the burned toast. As the animal devoured the blackish-brown bread like the best meal in town, Deeks fondled him, patting its back as the dog finished and looked at its owner with big, still hungry eyes – asking for more. "No, sorry boy, that's all there is." Deeks made a feigned sad face.

"You know, I never know who's the bigger animal… you or that pet dog of yours." Deeks didn't even have to turn around in order to know who that female voice belonged to. "Kensi – don't you EVER knock?"

Kensi Blye shook her head, brown curls flying everywhere. "Nope. Seriously, Deeks, you need to clean this place. It just looks, like…" – "It's a freakin' safehouse, Kensi, not my home." Kensi just threw up her hands in exhaustion. "Whatever you say!"

Deeks rolled his eyes at her and bowed down again in order to pat Monty some more. "Care to tell me what you're doing here?"

"Looking for you, to tell you we've got a case." – "I already told you, I have my own case this weekend. I'm working undercover, remember?" How did this woman manage to forget everything one told her within seconds of one telling her? Always? How the hell did he put up with her?

"I know you told me, I'm just saying, we have another case and I think 'giant drug transfer' tops whatever the LAPD makes you work on, so…" – "It doesn't." The cop looked up at his partner and sighed. "It really doesn't, and you really shouldn't be here, Kensi. You might blow my cov-"

Before they could continue their pointless chatter, gunshots burst through the air. Deeks did not have to warn Kensi, they both dropped to the ground instantly, the cop burying his dog underneath him. Several more shots ripped through the safe house's front and back door, then there were footsteps to be heard of men coming in. Deeks and Kensi stood up, both had their gear taken out already, taking cover by standing back to back. "You good?" – "Yes, you?" – "Perfect."

That was all the information they had to exchange, then they started for the two possible doors that lead into the kitchen, ready to screen the house for the intruders.

Deeks had never considered himself a coward, but as he stepped forward into the living room, searching the place with his eyes and looking for whoever had shot the back door, he could feel his heart throbbing violently in his chest. This was not at all how this was supposed to go. This was bad.

He was supposed to do surveillance on a supposedly dirty cop later this night, going undercover in his least favourite disguise, as a hobo. That was the reason for him having Monty with him… Scruffy-looking Monty always completed that outfit, together with Deeks' likewise scruffy-looking hair.

What had happened? Had Kensi blown his cover before he had even started out undercover? That was not very likely, not at all very likely. But something, something crucial, must have gone devastatingly wrong.

From behind him, he could hear Kensi shouting "Federal agent, drop your weapon!" followed by a single shot and then three – no, four sharp shots from Kensi's gun. Oh yes, Deeks could hear the difference. In that very moment, there was a movement in the corner of the room. "LAPD! Drop your-" Deeks' words were disrupted by a loud bang, then he fired as well, just as he could finally make out the shooter behind the couch.

The backfire came almost immediately. Dropping to his knees like Callen had shown him, Deeks took cover behind the door, looking back. Kensi had disappeared. Good girl, she was probably clearing the rest of the house.

Deeks did not waste much time either. He risked a short glance into the living room. No shooter, the bastard had taken cover as well. Deeks fired his gun once in the air, immediately drawing backfire again. This time, he was ready. As soon as the criminal had fired twice at him, realizing there actually was no target in sight, Deeks came forward from behind his corner and shot from his low angle. "Gotcha," he murmured, as he could hear a drop to the ground.

Quickly, he scanned the room and secured the gun, moving on to the backyard. Then he returned to the house, shouting "Clear!" so that Kensi would not feel the urge to shoot at him. "Clear!" his partner's voice answered him, and they met back in the living room. "Friends of yours?" Kensi kneeled down next to the shooter and looked him over. "Not that I know of," Deeks admitted. He felt stupid, not knowing what this had been about. They had obviously targeted him; he was the only one supposed to be here. If not for Kensi, they might have succeeded. He hated feeling like this, groping in the dark! It made him angry. "Do you think two guys trying to kill me tops major drug deal?" he asked Kensi, at once realising that this time, he had played the ball straight at her.

"Not if you ask me," she grinned and secured her weapon. "But I guess Hetti might make it a priority if we tell her." Deeks grimaced. "Wait, does that mean we have to tell Sam and Callen, too? Sam just gave me this major speech about how to protect myself and how to stand clear… He'll probably rip my head off!"

Kensi just hit his shoulder, hard, and jumped up, almost jogging out to the car. Why was she in such a damn good mood? "Ouch…" Deeks murmured, touching his shoulder. What the hell was wrong with that girl? Was it because she had been raised by a Marine? There had been no concern, nothing!

"Deeks, let's go!" she just shouted from outside. "Come on, Monty, buddy," Deeks sighed and grabbed his dog, getting outside after Kensi. Someone trying to kill him… felt just like the ordinary weekend job. Or would've felt like it, if he had been actually working when it happened…


	2. Easy Case

Hey guys,

I am still very new to this, so it would be great if some of you could read and review my story. Of course I hope you all enjoy it.

I also have to admit that I am no native English speaker, let alone writer, so any corrections on grammar, vocabulary, idioms etc. are most welcome! I am trying to learn, so don't spare me any criticism. Thanks to all of you!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2: Easy case**

_A warehouse in the Navy Yard in Baltimore | Thursday 7th July 2011, ca. 21:00 (09:00 pm)_

"That's just awesome. Great. I hope you're pleased, Ziva!" Sarcastically, Tony coiled out of the car, his face still in a somewhat milky-green shade. "Those were the best noodles in town and you made me… waste them. Thanks. How many times do I have to tell you – there are _no_ freakin' contact mines on US highways!" – "You done?" Ziva watched his movements slightly worried – not on behalf of Tony, but on behalf of her coffee, that he was balancing while making his way out of the car. Tony, on the other hand, kept on coiling his way out and muttering angrily all the time while doing so. "We definitely have to give you a parking lesson someday." Ziva laughed, happy that for the first time in months, she had managed to call driver before Tony did. Of course, that had not been really good for her partner, who now looked as if he might vomit for a second time any moment, but hey – she had missed driving!

"Grow up, Tony, it's not like you're anchored in there!" – "People don't anchor, Ziva, they just get STUCK." Tony grimaced, finally pulling himself free, and then walked towards her with a dismayed look on his face after he had somehow banged the door of the car as if he wanted to smash it dead instead of shut. Even now he could not stop complaining about her English!

"I was being figurative," Ziva hissed, as she took her coffee out of Tony's hand – it was a miracle that he hadn't spilled any of it as her driving skills had managed to pull them into a parking space normally maybe desirable for a Mercedes Smart, but not for the slightly taller NCIS car they had borrowed to get here in time. After an hour in the same airspace as Anthony DiNozzo, the Israeli Special Agent was close to losing her temper.

"Maybe you should have been more considerate instead, Ziva!" Tony did it again – he managed to give her name that strange, pissed ring that only got there when he pronounced it in an angry manner.

"Maybe I should just kill you while we are still alone!" Ziva had a hard time calming her temper as it was, after he had complained about her driving all the way to Baltimore – a way that usually took over an hour, but she had managed to do it in forty minutes. Not that anyone appreciated it… typical!

Gladly for DiNozzo, they entered the warehouse as she said so and laid eyes on Dr. Mallard and his assistant Palmer, who were already bowed over the corpse. By this, they seized to be alone and forced Ziva to abolish her angry plan.

"What do we have here, Ducky?"

Tony tried to impersonate Gibbs' voice, as they stepped closer. Ducky at once looked up and replied: "Your impersonating skills are in fact improving, Tony. That was already very lifelike… very unlike our poor Petty Officer here." – "Surprisingly punctual, DiNozzo." Gibbs entered right behind them, making Tony almost jump. "Yes, Boss, I already told Ziva that we had to move quickly…" Ziva shot him down with a glance so cold that it might have quick-freezed him instead of just warning him. "You were complaining all the time that I was going too fast!" – "Course he was, Ziva, you were driving…"

Tony opened his mouth in order to add something smart-assed, but Gibbs was quicker to shoot him down, as well. "Shouldn't have let her drive, Tony, if you can't keep down your dinner."

Then Gibbs turned to the forensic team, while Tony still looked at him in shock, then whispered to Ziva. "How did he know that? You told him, didn't you? When did you even tell him?" Ziva hissed back, before joining Gibbs. "I didn't tell him, alright?"

"Where's McGeek? Wasn't he supposed to drive here with you, Boss?" Tony hurried to get closer to the body. "McGee called in sick today. It's just you and Ziva, so better get to work, DiNozzo." – "Right, Boss." Tony grimaced. One down with the flu meant that the two of them left would have to suffer from Gibbs' mood swings on their own, and it also meant more – and especially more geekish – work for all of them. That sucked.

* * *

_NCIS HQ, Washington D.C. | Friday 8th July 2011, ca. 07:00 am_

"What do we have so far?" Gibbs stared at Tony impatiently; the Special Agent knew he did without even turning his head. He was just now given the Gibbs-stare. He hated it, and he lived for it – there was no motivation so excelling as the Gibbs-stare in ones back.

"Petty Officer Ronald Sieger," Tony explained, clicking on the remote to the big screen. A picture of the young Petty Officer flashed up and looked down on them. "24 years old, according to his CO (commanding officer) he got in trouble once or twice, otherwise a good kid. Joined the Navy two years ago, has been skipping boats a lot ever since, probably because of said troublemaking. Has received several warnings; according to Ducky TOD (time of death) is around six last evening. Place where the body was found was warehouse four in our Navy Yard, there is really not much there, just… toilet paper and other supplies. According to Ducky, that's also our crime scene." Tony paused in order to make a joke about the POD (place of death), but Gibbs had stepped up directly behind him and was looking at him with that certain glance… about to hit him at the back of his head. So DiNozzo just cleared his throat and continued. "The Petty Officer was obviously in a fight, there was a lot of bruising post mortem and COD (cause of death) isn't quite clear yet, though Ducky thinks it's internal bleeding due to the haemorrhaging all over his stomach." – "Anything Ducky didn't tell me already last night?"

Gibbs sounded annoyed, he obviously grew impatient. "Other than that the Petty Officer was on leave and had no reason to be at the crime scene, no. Abby managed to pull some prints from the crime scene and also some other… traces, she's running them right now. With a little luck, this case'll be solved before the weekend!"

"Ziva!" Gibbs turned halfway to the Israeli, who had stood there the entire time, listening to Tony's report. "I found Petty Officer Sieger's car, it was parked right outside the Navy Yard in a public street. I pulled the plates, he rented it two days ago, when his ship arrived in Baltimore. It's now with the forensic team. We also found a blood trace leading from the warehouse to the same public street, but it ended there and we couldn't make much of it other than that the killer was bleeding. Blood sample is with Abby and might help make our case."

"Seems you could be right about the weekend, DiNozzo," Gibbs concluded and nodded approvingly towards Ziva. "That is, if you do any actual own work instead of just copying Ducky's notes."

* * *

_Abby's lab, NCIS HQ in Washington D.C. | Friday 8th July 2011, ca. 07:10 am_

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby jumped up and down and then came running towards Gibbs as he came down. "Isn't this the easiest case like, ever? I'm sure we'll establish a new record, don't you think? Is there a reward for this? Well, if there isn't, there definitely should be. There should be one like, 'The quickest solved case of all times'." - "Abby..." Gibbs tried to interrupt Abby's oral fluency, but he did not stand a chance, not yet. "Oh, oh, and there should definitely be a reward for the killer, too. Because, this is like, the worst covered up murder case I ever had to handle. There's just so much bodily fluids and fingerprints and blood and hair and skin underneath the vic's fingernails... even Godzilla could solve this crime. Not that Godzilla has ever shown any wish of solving crimes, he is probably too busy destroying Tokio. But IF he were solving crimes, Godzilla could like..." - "Abby!" Gibbs raised his voice only so slightly, but it was enough to cut Abby's speech short.

"Of course. So, you brought me a whole set of traces. I'm not done with running them, but Ducky managed to pull off some fingerprints from the Vic's skin, so I ran them - and I got a hit." Gibbs looked at her expectantly, but she just grinned and hopped up and down. "Guess!"

"Abby, I won't guess." Gibbs looked at her in his straightforward way, so she sighed. "One day, we'll really have to work on your way of making work time into fun time. But okay, you want it plain old boring." Gibbs looked as if he'd say something rather harsh soon, so she just did some clicks on the keyboard of her computer. The picture of a young man flashed up: Reddish brown, militarily short but disorderly hair, piercing blue eyes and a rather pretty face for a man, that was only made less cute by the menacing look of his face and the scruffy three-days-beard. "His name is William Callahan. I found him so quickly because he was once a member of the Baltimore Police Academy, before he got dishonourable discharged and arrested for bodily assault. Gibbs, this guy once tried to become a cop!"

"Alright, thank you Abby!" Gibbs handed her an extra-large Caff Pow. "But I've got more!" Abby protested, taking the Pow nevertheless. "I ran the blood found on the crime scene, and it is Group AB negative, which is rather rare. Actually, did you know it is the rarest blood group in the of the United States? I just googled it and there are but 1.5% of citizens with that blood group!" Gibbs looked pleased, he did not really smile, but it was a start in Abby's eyes. "So that narrows it down to a few people who might have killed the victim?" - "Better still." Abby sipped out of her Caff Pow, and then grinned as she realized the slight impatience on Gibbs' face. "Petty Officer Sieger was a Group A positive, so the blood couldn't have been his. Also..." Abby made it a little bit more exciting by waiting just a few seconds longer, before she concluded finally: "... William Callahan's blood type is AB negative. What are the chances of that, I bet? I already looked, there is no home address for this guy entered anywhere, he doesn't live anywhere in Baltimore at least. I'll keep on searching though."

"Good job, Abby!" Gibbs kissed her on her cheek, before turning away to rush back out of her lab. "Send that pic-" - "- to Tony in order to put it on a search warrant?" Abby chuckled. "I already did!"


	3. Wrong Crowd

Hey guys,

I am still very new to this, so it would be great if some of you could read and review my story. Of course I hope you all enjoy it.

I also have to admit that I am no native English speaker, let alone writer, so any corrections on grammar, vocabulary, idioms etc. are most welcome! I am trying to learn, so don't spare me any criticism. Thanks to all of you!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3: Wrong crowd**

_Two blocks from The Grand Hotel, O'ahu, Hawaii | Friday 8th July 2011 | 5:49 am_

Kono loved the sea. She had always loved it; ever since she was a kid she would come out to the beach, bring her surfboard and rush into the waves. There was a good reason her cousin Chin used to call her "Waterwoman" from time to time. But not this morning – there was no time to go surfing when one had to turn up to work early in the morning. A shame, but nothing to be taken lightly, she concluded in her mind. If Steve hated one thing, it was when she turned up late for work.

So Kono just turned one sad, short look to the beach and the beautiful sunrise and then pressed her foot down onto the gas pedal. Within seconds, she could feel how the little car accelerated, how the engine got running. God, she loved to drive in the morning, especially when she had cause to speed up a little over the speed limit!

Breaking the one or other rule from time to time was the perfect thing to do, and what better than to drive to work really fast after spending the night in bed with her boyfriend Adam? Was there ANY better way at all to spend the one night off between investigations than spending it with the one she loved?

Right! There was none!

_On the other side of a street I knew_

_Stood a girl that looked like you…_

The radio in her car rattled the happy tuned song by Train, and Kono gave herself the luxury of singing it aloud and dancing halfway in her seat while she drove. A great song, for a great morning. Today would be a good day.

And in that moment, her mobile rang, with the one ringtone she had assigned to Danny Williams, one of her co-workers. Kono frowned, sighing a pleading "no…" before taking the phone up and shutting down the radio. If Danny called her this shortly before work started, something had happened. They were officially investigating a case. And that in turn meant that she could cancel her dinner reservations with Adam.

"Hey Danny, what's up?" If there had been a spectator in Kono's car, he would have been able to guess the meaning of the short, one-sided conversation without hearing Danny's part.

"You got it," Kono just answered, hanging up on her colleague and glancing over her shoulder sharply, before turning her car around violently in the middle of the road and heading back the exact same way she had come.

This time, she didn't turn on the radio as she accelerated.

* * *

_O'ahu Airport, Hawaii | same day, an hour later_

It didn't take Kono long to get some cloths together in a bag and join her team at the airport. Danny had told her she would be briefed on the flight and that they were send out to the mainland. This was a first, but nevertheless Kono was quite able to follow orders, and she was smart enough not to hold Danny back with stupid questions. So when he asked her to meet Steve, Chin and him at the gate in an hour, she just replied "you got it."

Now, she had finally arrived at the airport, still curious as to the how and why of this strange mission. "Hey guys," she called as she saw Chin and Steve already waiting for her, "everything alright with Danny? He sounded sort of… stressed out on the phone…"

"Grace'll have her third tennis match today," Steve explained, shouldering his bag. Kono nodded. She felt sorry for Danny, missing anything from Grace's life was probably very hard on him. "So, what's happening, why are we sent to the mainland?"

Chin explained it to her in a silent tone, why they all waited for Danny to arrive. "Remember the strange case of the Marine, missing from his Base all of a sudden two weeks ago?" Kono nodded. They had been looking for the Marine, too, before other cases had been thought to be more important than a probable deserter. "Well, he's no longer a missing person now." – "They found him?" Steve got himself into their conversation as Danny jogged towards them. "Sort of. Seems like we're looking into a homicide now."

Kono tried to supress her swallowing. Of course, she was getting used to stuff like that, but it was obviously not just some homicide when they sent for the Hawaiian special task force to solve it. "So why us, boss?"

Danny greeted them all as he joined them, exchanging nods and short handshakes, while Steve answered her question as directly as he always did. "'Cause his body was found in Miami alongside a member of the Yakuza and a Hawaiian drug cartel-member. The Miami PD has their hands full as it is with their own drug cartel... And as none of our superiors can wish for a clash or, worse, an alliance between cartels…" – "… this is now of federal importance." Chin finished Steve's sentence.

It was Kono who expressed what they all were thinking. "What the hell did he do in Miami?"

* * *

_MPD Precinct, Miami | Saturday, 9thJuly 2011 | 8:30 am_

Although they had found some good hotel rooms at their arrival, the five hour time difference between O'ahu and Miami caused some serious jetlag for Chin. Well, not the flight itself, strictly speaking. It was rather the time difference at their arrival. They had been flying for roughly ten hours, but when they arrived at Miami Airport, it wasn't 5 pm, like in his mind – no, it was already 10 pm, meaning that everywhere the party was starting. After all, it was Friday night!

Chin tried his best not to stay up too late, just like his co-workers. They had to be up bright and early the next morning, after all; yet it proved almost impossible to go to sleep when you had a million thoughts in your head and it was – for you – still damn early to go to sleep.

The jetlag didn't get to Chin when he arrived at the airport, but rather when he had to stand up the next morning and realized that six in the morning for Miami citizens meant one in the morning for him.

Nevertheless, it was no point complaining, neither about the time difference nor about the really bad coffee they got served at the hotel. Thankfully, they managed to get to a Starbucks drive-in before getting to the precinct.

Chin was very glad for his sunglasses as he followed his boss into the building, where they at once got looked at by a hundred police officers – at least it kind of felt that way. Of course, they were the island folks, the special task force. They were interesting as hell.

"Commander Steve McGarrett? My name is Detective James Broderick. Welcome to Miami." While Steve returned the greeting and introduced his team members to the detective, Chin had a good look at the man through his sunglasses before taking them off. He could but hope he didn't look too tired.

Detective Broderick was what one would call a typical Cop: A little bit chubby around the waistline, yet not too much, a donut in the one hand and a cup of coffee, that he had just put down to greet everyone, on his writing desk. His dark hair and darker eyes were probably helping quite a bit with the females, although Chin wasn't sure about that strange smile that the detective gave to Kono. His cousin responded by a halfway-smile herself, but the short look under lifted eyebrows that she gave Chin afterwards suggested that she wasn't at all very attracted by that guy or by his overly tight handshake. After he had seen her with Adam, Chin wasn't surprised. Adam was in a whole different league than that cop ever would be. After that short exchange of pleasantries, Steve got right to the point.

"Is there a room for my team to work in?" – "Yes, we cleared you guys some space right over there," the detective explained. "Thanks. Why don't you show us, you could brief us on the details of the case there," Chin's boss proposed before already moving towards the room.

As soon as the door was shut behind them, Detective Broderick handed over the case file and explained what had happened. "As far as we are concerned, we're facing a triple homicide. We found three men, two of them armed, in a little backstreet in Liberty City. That's not very uncommon for the neighbourhood, but they were from three different… groups that usually don't mix too well." Steve pulled three photographs from the victims out of the file folder, placing them on the table for everyone to see. Detective Broderick pointed to one of the two Asian victims. "That's Aiko Yamamoto; he was on the FBI watchlist for known associates of the Yakuza." Chin remembered seeing the picture of the probably 50-year old man once while they had investigated cases with the Yakuza in Hawaii. "He was in the US illegally; we're still trying to figure out how he came here and what he was up to. Judging from his background, I'd say nothing good. This one, on the other hand," the Miami cop pointed to the next picture of a man who was about half of Yamamoto's age, "is called Jacob Browning. His family is American in the sixth generation, therefore the name. Good kid, never got into a lot of trouble as a teen. Then his father abandons the family, mother dies two years later in a car crash. Father refuses to take kid in, he lands in the system, has been circling there until he came of age. Got into trouble from there, last we know of he got bailed out of prison by no one less than Christopher Hadley himself. I trust you've all heard of that scumbag."

Chin exchanged a look with his cousin Kono, who shortly shook her head. "The Hadleys are the most prominent 'family clan' – if you want to call their enterprise that – at the east coast. As far as I know they control the market with fun for the whole family, meaning drugs, weapons, prostitution,… you name it." Broderick nodded to Chin's excurse. "Exactly. We almost busted their human traffic ring a few months back, but then three cops turned up dead; no traces, nothing. The investigation somehow ended in talk from there. We tried to get the killers to justice, of course, but while we had our main subjects, we had nothing to proof our allegations. So they walked… like a million times before that." Kono frowned slightly. "So… Christopher Hadley is the Godfather?" – "He sure as hell is, Officer K-" The detective tried to pronounce Kono's last name and failed, like so many Haoles. Kono explained it to him again, but Chin was very sure, that the man would fail again. They never got it right, not the first and not the second time.

"Third victim is your very own Corporal Henry Blythe, US Marine Corps. Certainly not the kind of guy we would've expected to find with the other victims." This time it was Danny to pose a question. "Isn't it just possible that the Corporal blundered into a fight between the two other gentlemen and got caught between the lines of fire?"

"That's the first thing that came to mind. The autopsies showed us that all three men had been in a violent fight, but their wounds didn't match those of the other victims. Also, all three of them were shot by the same gun. Two were injured fatally, Browning (the Hadley's man) was left with a bullet to his arm, some bruises on his belly and a blow to the head. His attacker probably even thought he'd live, but he bled out slowly according to our medical examiner. Gun wasn't registered, but neither the Yakuza nor the Hadleys have so far taken responsibility for the crime, neither openly nor towards our informants."

"They were all shot by the same person?" Chin crossed his arms and looked at his colleagues. "That seems unlikely at best. Who would want to shoot three men so completely different?" – "Maybe it had nothing to do with the mob, maybe it was just a coincidence." Steve had that steep, small corrugation he always got when he was thinking hard. "Would you be offended when we send for our own medical examiner, just to double-check the results?" – "Not at all, knock yourselves out!" – "Thanks, detective."

"I'd really love to see that crime scene now. Maybe we find something there that'll help us shed some light into this chaos." They waited until they had left the precinct, before each of them gave out their opinion. They were united on this: There was no logical explanation they could think of, why the Marine would have been in company of two gangbangers from different gangs; and even less why someone would kill all three of them.


	4. Drug Bust

**4. Drug Bust**_  
_

_Safe house of LAPD in Santa Monica (L.A.) | Friday, 8th July 2011, 08:23 am_

"Kensi, we can't just leave here! We'll have to preserve the crime scene and… stuff like that." Deeks jogged after Kensi, barking Monty following him close on his heels.

Kensi rolled her eyes, sitting inside her car, while she talked to the radio, informing the LAPD of what had happened while her partner was still whining about them not being able to leave here. What did he think she was just doing? Did he think at all?!

Deeks opened the reel car door, letting his dog jump into the back before he sat down on the front passenger seat. "Seriously, Kens, we can't just break protocol like tha-" – "That's why I called it in, genius!" The brunette shook the radio in her hand so that her partner would finally recognize what she was doing. If she had hoped that might shut him up, she would have been wrong. "Alright, you called it in. We still can't leave; we have to wait until at least a squad arrives…"

Kensi sighed inwardly, but she managed to give Deeks a smile. "Yes, that's exactly what we're going to do. In the meantime, mind telling me what your secret undercover-job today was all about?" – "I can't, it's an open LAPD investigation… And I still think it tops major drug deal." Deeks winked at her, teasing her over their disrupted conversation.

"You forgot: and someone just tried to shoot my partner over it." For the first time this day, Kensi spoke dead seriously. "Deeks, this isn't funny. Someone targeted you because of whatever you're doing, so I need to know what it is you're hiding!" Why on earth did he look so pleased all of a sudden? Kensi always got a bad feeling when Deeks gave her his sunny-boy pleased-as-hell look. If she were a nurse, he would probably go on with a sponge-bath joke now. It was _that_ look.

"What?" she snapped, when he didn't response to her question. "So you actually _do_ care." Deeks grinned even broader, gazing at her face. "I knew it." Kensi did not know why, but she felt uncomfortable in this situation. She did not like that gloat of his – she did not like how it made her feel; all fuzzy and warm and butterfly-ish. Okay, she did not like this feeling with Deeks – she was more than fine when other men made her feel like this. "'Cause I do. You're my partner," she shot him off and folded her arms, forcing herself to break up the gaze between them and to look straight out through her windshield instead. "I'm calling Hetti too," she informed Deeks while pulling out her mobile phone. Nothing to break up a conversation, that made her uncomfortable, like calling her boss.

* * *

_NCIS HQ, Los Angeles | Friday, 8th July 2011 | 11:37 am_

"Two hours! I can't believe Hetti made us stay on that crime scene for two hours!" Deeks shut his car door with frustration, opening the posterior door for Monty. "What on earth was that all about?!" – "She just wanted us to take a good look around, in case the LAPD missed something." Kensi did not say what Hetti's real intention had been, in her opinion. Hetti didn't trust the LAPD, just as little as Kensi did after Deeks had finally filled her in. This was the reason why Hetti had made two of her agents stay with the crime scene and watch the investigation there. Deeks' job had been to surveil a dirty cop, and someone had tried to shoot him before he could get to it. The dirty cop himself could not have done it, so there were possibly other security leaks inside the Los Angeles Police Department. Kensi hated that Internal Affairs had made Deeks work for them; she knew how he felt about these guys, just like any other cop: he despised them, for obvious reasons. No one liked people who sniffed around where they shouldn't; cops investigating cops was just wrong.

Of course, telling Deeks that they suspected the complete LAPD to be in on the assassination attempt on his life was like telling a kid there was no Santa Claus. Worse, probably. Deeks put a lot of effort into pretending he didn't care about things, but he had a deep sense of honour, of loyalty. He was a good – more importantly, he was a very decent guy, even if he sometimes had a strange way of showing it. Kensi knew about her partner's many downfalls, but – although she never would have admitted it – she also knew about his hidden, honest side. She knew who the guy behind the clown's mask truly was, and she respected him. She liked him, in fact.

So, although the obvious answer came to her mind at once, as Deeks answered her comment about them looking after the LAPD forensic team not missing some traces by telling her that this was, in fact, not the first crime scene the police department investigated, Kensi didn't voice it. She just couldn't, there was a small part inside her that hoped that she and Hetti were wrong and this was no huge LAPD cover-up, where they tried to cut off loose ends by killing people working for the Internal Affairs department.

After having bickered all the way from Santa Monica down to HQ, they walked down the corridor in silence. Kensi was not quite sure what to make of Deeks' face now. She hadn't answered his last comment, so he shot some sideway-glances at her as they made their way up the stairs to OPS. He did not say anything, however, and that was very unlike him. Normally, he would try to break her silence with chatter, pushing her to reveal her thoughts. That he didn't do this now could only mean that he had thoughts of his own, he was wondering about her, about Hetti, about motives. He was a damn good cop, when he stopped bickering for a few moments, she realized.

Or he was just shut up for once – however unlikely that much luck on Kensi's behalf might be.

* * *

_same place | approximately same time_

Upstairs in OPS, Eric was chewing his lower lip while typing data as fast as he fingers would move. The constant clicking sound was almost like a little drum, performing a rhythm faster than he could think. And that was good, because it made it actually harder for him to think about certain things. For example, why Nell hadn't answered any of his phone calls last night, and when he wrote her an SMS in order to ask her if she wanted to go grab a drink wrote back that she wasn't feeling so good. He had asked her this morning, why she hadn't picked up her phone when he called, but hadn't received an answer – just one of those mysterious shrugs she used to give him when she didn't want to talk about something. Was it because of him, had Nell misinterpreted his invitation as some kind of sexual harassment? They were just friends, she had never really responded to his flirtation, so Eric had eventually stopped it. She wasn't interested, that much was clear to him; so he stuck to being her friend – which was pretty awesome, as well. The problem with Nell was that she never let people in on her thoughts; she was a bit like Hetti that way.

Nell sat right next to him, looking at her own screen and typing exactly as fast as him. Was he the only one who felt that their silence was uncomfortable?

"I just wanted to tell you," Eric carefully began a conversation, "that I didn't mean to ask you on a date or something last night." As soon as he'd said it, he felt his face burn with a blush. Gosh, why was this so awkward? "I just mean, not that you're not hot enough to ask you on a date or something, it's just…" He realized that Nell had stopped typing and was looking right back at him, frowning slightly. "No, I mean…" Damn. This was one of those moments, when you just couldn't find the right thing to say, because everything you said would ultimately be the wrong thing.

Someone cleared their throat, and when Nell and Eric turned around as though they'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar, they realized that Deeks and Kensi had been standing there the entire time, listening to Eric talk. Nell looked perfectly ashamed for a moment before she managed to put on a calm expression; Eric on the other hand did seemingly not know where to look and took a sudden interest in his own knees.

To their surprise, there was no gloating, no joking on Deeks' or Kensi's part. "What've we got, Nell?" Kensi just asked after a few seconds of awkward silence, and gladly, Nell jumped to her feet, walking over to the big screen. "Operation Mushroom. The NCIS got an anonymous tip that there will be a major drug trade at the Port of Los Angeles today." – "Anonymous tip?" Deeks interrupted, "since when do we follow anonymous tips just like that?"

Hetti, as always, seemed to materialize out of nowhere directly behind him. "We usually don't, Detective Deeks." Deeks almost jumped, although he should have gotten used to her Ninja-skills by now, he figured. "This tip, however, gave us genuine information about the Mexican Reynosa Cartel that had been classified by the FBI. It fits, furthermore, right into files of the on-going investigation concerning this cartel by one of our own teams in Washington." Deeks frowned. "But how can this…" Hetti nodded slowly. "It can't be, unless we have a spy in our midst, or the tip came from someone with intelligence originating inside the cartel. Since I don't think anyone at NCIS is talking to the Reynosa family, we must assume the tip as being genuine."

Deeks folded his arms and exchanged a look with Kensi. "I don't like it. Smells like a trap to me." – "You're not alone, Mr Deeks. That's why I send four of our best agents together with a SWAT unit to look into it. If it's a trap, the cat might have cornered a mouse they'd better left alone."

Nell and Eric had continued typing very fast on their keyboards, while Hetti was briefing Deeks on the Operation. "Alright, we're all set," Eric announced while hitting a last key. A life stream, obviously by a helmet camera, flashed up on the big screen; simultaneously Nell started talking to their agents on the other side of the line. "We've got eyes and ears, Callen", she informed them colloquially. "Copy that," G's voice sounded through the OPS room. Kensi, Deeks and Hetti stepped in front of the big screen, watching as Sam entered their frame and moved forward simultaneously with Callen.

Eric hit some more keys and a second life stream flashed up, showing another agent right in front of the camera. "We've got eyes and ears, Agent Coulby," Nell informed the second agent too, and smiled at the "Copy that, Ma'am" that she got in response.

"I had Agent Coulby and Agent Donahue step in for you, since you were otherwise engaged." Hetti informed Deeks and Kensi. Kensi nodded. "I know Coulby, he once showed me some good moves." Deeks raised his eyebrows, she quickly added: "Fighting moves, Deeks, not what _you're_ thinking!" – "I'm not thinking anything," Deeks gloated right next to her, highly amused by the fact that he could bring her out of her shell so easily.

While the two teams of agents carefully scanned the harbour region that the anonymous caller had pointed them to, Hetti turned towards the two agents standing in OPS. "Miss Blye, what news from the crime scene?" Kensi silently reported about the three bodies, all John Does, and that the guns found in their possession seemed to match all shots fired so far. Hetti didn't comment on the rather sparse report as she watched the on-going operation. "I want the two of you to stay on this case," she finally declared, her eyes still locked to the screen. Deeks and Kensi both murmured their consent. An attempt on one of their lives was a serious problem, one that needed solving.

"And Miss Blye – keep your partner safe!" Hetti told them, as they were already half-way out of OPS. Kensi turned around, to say "Of course", but the words stuck in her throat. Suddenly there was gunshot noise; Agent Donahue dropped to the ground, just as Agent Coulby – according to the sudden frame shift of his helmet camera. Sam, too, hit the ground as obviously gunfire was also opened on the first group of agents. "Where's the SWAT unit?" Hetti barked, being the one who overcame her shock first. Agent Coulby lifted his head, one could see this by the camera moving, and then he seemingly crawled towards his partner, trying to get him into cover. At the same time, Callen's camera moved towards Sam, who already was halfway on his feet again, hiding behind a container with Callen, while they tried to localise the shooters. Nell and Eric already zapped through all observation cameras they could find of the area, doing just the same, as Kensi and Deeks watched in shock.

Several bullets hit Agent Donahue's unmoving body, just before, suddenly, Coulby's camera failed altogether, showing them nothing but snow. "Agent Coulby, come in." Nell's voice trembled, as she tried to reach their agents. "Agent Donahue, report status. Agent Coulby …"

"Agent Callen, can you make out our other team from your position?" Hetti's voice was restricted and calm, even if she looked a good deal paler than most times. "Negative, no sign of Coulby or Donahue." Callen's voice was disrupted several times by the sounds of gunshots, then, suddenly, there was silence on all channels and the second camera, too, showed them nothing but snow. The next second, all observation cameras of the harbour region were shut off completely, their screens showing nothing but blackness.

"What's the matter?" Hetti turned towards the two hackers, who were already typing faster than one could watch. "No idea," Nell replied beneath gritted teeth, "someone just… threw us out. They shut down our communication completely." – "Well, bring us back online!" Hetti watched the two nerds, who seemed to struggle with an attack on their system. Deeks and Kensi had finally overcome their shock, both had pulled out their mobiles, Deeks calling the LAPD for backup while his partner informed several ambulances.

Neither of the agents waited for Hetti's command. While they were still talking on their phones, they rushed out towards the exit, towards Kensi's car. There wasn't necessary to talk about this; their friends and colleagues needed their help desperately. That was all that counted.


	5. Conundrum Royale

Hej guys,

wow, there's actually some people reading this. I'm really thrilled that you've stayed with me so long! I do hope you have fun with the story so far, and I thought of a little game we might play - it is also a way you can help me improve my writing (so you see, it's completely selfless on my behalf!).

I opened a forum, so that you guys can have a guessing game. Who do you think "did it"? Where do you think the story is headed?

Of course, your opinions can change whenever I post a new chapter, nothing's written in stone. I think it might be helpfull for me what you think of all of this so far, and it might also be interesting for you guys to share your opinions, maybe figure it all out before the agents do?

And with this, I'll finally stop blabbering and give you my next chapter. Enjoy, and feel free to R&R!

* * *

**5. Conundrum Royale  
**

_NCIS HQ, Washington D.C. | Friday, 8th July 2012 | 19:13 (7:13 pm)_

It had been a long day, exhausting for the whole team. Paperwork always was, especially when it was the only investigation you could do. Paperwork, extensive computer research and, of course, the long wait for Ducky's and Abby's results; this had been Gibbs' work day so far. He watched his team, now reduced to two agents, as they worked. Tony was looking as though he was doing nothing most of the time, but Gibbs knew his team clown far better than that. Most of his seemingly inactive time was in fact highly sufficient police work. Even after training Tony for several years, Gibbs still didn't know how DiNozzo managed to pull this off, but he didn't care, either. Tony did great work; he was a very promising agent.

Ziva, on the other hand, was obviously close to losing her temper. The former Mossad-officer held her telephone's receiver in a murderous grip, while she spoke quickly in a low voice. He couldn't hear everything she was saying, but the one or other misused idiom was audible, charmingly inaccurate as Ziva spoke faster and faster, shutting up only shortly to listen. Although she behaved as if she had to milk every little bit of information out of the receiver, failing most of the time, she in fact would have good results at the end of the day, too. Gibbs knew better than to disturb the pair of them when they were working, he waited patiently until Ziva bashed her receiver down on the cradle with some Yiddish curse. "Are we a little stressed, David?" Tony was looking at Ziva with narrowed eyes; she had obviously disturbed his stream of consciousness, if he hadn't just slept on his desk. It was always hard to tell with DiNozzo. "This – " she added in a word that Gibbs again didn't know, it probably was another Yiddish idiom, or, just as likely, something very colourful in Arabic; " – of a bank manager should be really careful, before I charge him with obstruction of justice!"

Before Gibbs could say something, DiNozzo had stood up and was walking towards Ziva. "You know, Ziva, I sometimes find it…" – "I'm sure that's a fascinating story, DiNozzo," Gibbs disrupted their bickering before it could even start. "But it'll have to wait." He closed the file he had just been working on, and looked over to Ziva. "What have you got so far, Ziva?"

Ziva stood up at once, taking the remote control for the big screen and clicking on it. Again, Petty Officer Sieger's ID looked down on all of them. "Petty Officer Sieger just spent six months on the USS Normandy, last week his ship returned to Norfolk from the Gulf of Mexico. I found his address, he lived in Baltimore, Central Park Heights." – "Nice!" Tony looked at Ziva with a surprised expression on his face. Gibbs gave him a stern look, but Tony explained his exclaim at once. "That's a rather expensive neighbourhood for a Petty Officer, boss. Maybe our victim made some money on the side?" – "That's what I thought," Ziva concluded, but the employee at his bank insists I can't have access to his account details." – "Now there's a surprise, if you asked him as politely as you're always driving..." Before Ziva could even start on Tony's remark, Gibbs disrupted their conversation again. "Call the legal department, get a warrant." – "Yes, that was my next move." – "Anything else?" – "His car is in the garage, but we don't have any results yet."

"Tony, speak up!" Ziva sat down at her desk, but while she was typing in the number of the legal department, she was still listening to her partner.

"I looked into William Callahan, whose fingerprints and blood we found at the crime scene." Tony walked over, taking the remote control from Ziva and clicking on it in turn. Now, Callahan's ID flashed up right next to Sieger's. "There's not too much information in his police file, but I did some digging. Turns out he was born and raised in Baltimore. It's the complete sob story: father is an unemployed alcoholic, mother a drug using prostitute, little Billy shows up at the hospital almost twice a year, each time they find new scar tissue or bruising. Age eight he comes to the ER on his own, broken right arm, two fractured ribs, finally the system kicks in. He goes from one home to the next, never stays with one family longer than a few months. Still he does surprisingly great at school, even finishes High School top of his class and gets himself into a scholarship program. Went to college in Baltimore, got two master degrees simultaneously, one in IT and one in Laws, but instead of becoming some sort of lawyer he joins the Baltimore Police Academy, where he is top of his class, too. I called Terry, an old friend who teaches there…" Gibbs recalled, that Tony had been at the Baltimore Police Academy too, once. "… and Terry actually remembers that kid. Said he was far too clever to become a cop, scored extremely high in all of his tests, never attracted any negative attention, then BAMM," DiNozzo clapped the remote control into his free hand, "he assaults a fellow student in his last month at the Academy, gets himself kicked out and sent to prison. Does three years' time, then gets out on parole. After that there's not much else. He worked as a taxi driver during his parole time, then he just vanishes. He currently has no known address, no banking accounts, not even another job during the last three years… just nothing. It's as though that guy just… died."

"He didn't die, DiNozzo, his blood was on the crime scene. Widen your search radius." – "I looked for him in the entire state. I'll go on and look in the neighbouring states." Tony sighed only so slightly, but Gibbs could see it nevertheless. Just as Gibbs was thinking about sending them both home for the night, his mobile rang. "Abby's found something," he informed them as he hung up.

They entered the NCIS garage to the strains of some band. Gibbs didn't know which one; it was loud and, according to his ears, noise instead of music. "Abbs?" As soon as Abby realized they were there, she turned her music down and climbed back out of Petty Officer Sieger's Corvette. Tony whistled through his teeth. "Ziva, you didn't mention he drove such a beauty!" He rushed over to the car, looking at it as fondly as if standing in front of a master painting, not a car. "I don't believe it, that's an original Stingray! Corvette C3, with the classic Big-Block V8 motor and…" – "... 7.4 litres cylindrical capacity." Ziva finished his sentence for him. She didn't start her next sentence with 'sorry'. Gibbs noticed how she adopted his rule 'never apologize, it's a sign of weakness', and had to suppress a grim smile. "Boss, I didn't know it was a car like that, the Baltimore PD just told me they had found the car registered to our victim and that they were sending it over." She, too, looked at the car with fascination. "This is…" – "… a timeless American classic." DiNozzo sighed again, this time it was a happy sigh.

"I know, right?" Abby joined the two younger agents in admiration. "Its year of manufacture was 1974. Gibbs, this is a really, really…" – "It's a very expensive car." Gibbs nodded slowly, he didn't show the same enthusiasm as his subordinates, but secretly he was just as deeply impressed. Still, they couldn't waste any more time on gazing at that car.

"What've you got, Abbs?" Gibbs came closer, watching her as she happily turned around, her white lab coat swinging about her. "Ask me what I don't have, because that's faster." She pointed to her laptop at a nearby table, walking over there and hitting some keys, thereby producing an image – some sort of graph – on her screen. "I've got, like, everything. This crime scene is so obvious that I really think we should give the killer some dumbass-of-the-year award. At least that's what I thought earlier, but now I kind of have too much stuff." Before anyone could interrupt her, she rattled on, without any clear coherence to her previous notion. "I double-checked the blood tests. There're really just two different blood types, A positive and AB negative. I also looked at all the fingerprints of the area. Two different ones match workers at the warehouse. I already double-checked, neither of them have AB neg and both of them were busy moving some containers, 2 miles from this particular warehouse, around the time of death. Another set matches the victim, and there's the fourth set, that matches our prime suspect."

Gibbs frowned at her. "You could've told me all of that on the phone, Abbs." – "And… what part of that is 'too much'?" Ziva folded her arms.

The forensic scientist nodded so rapidly that her braids danced above her shoulders. "Exactly, that's not why I called you down here." She gave Tony, who was still hovering over the Corvette with yearning eyes, and ironic sideglance. "It also wasn't to brag with this toy, although I must admit it's… very nice, and the thought was tempting. Not that I brag a lot, that's really not my style, and I hate when people brag about with their stuff, it just makes them sound arrogant, don't you think? Still, if I wanted to brag, I would probably do it with this baby, because it's seriously..." – "Abby!" Gibbs called her to order, knowing that she would rattle on for hours if he allowed her to. She walked over to the right side of the car, opening the front door and motioning them all to step closer. "Look at what I've found."

Gibbs leaned forward to be able to gaze over her shoulder, as she knelt down and tilted the front passenger's seat pad up. There was a secret compartment underneath it, filled with a small, wooden box. Abby took it out, her hands of course protected by latex gloves, and stood up to open it for all to see.

"What the…" Tony suppressed the curse he had been about to utter, and looked down at the content with widened eyes. Gibbs had far more restraint than that, but he felt with DiNozzo. "Three magazines of 9x19mm ammunition," Abby captioned the obvious. "And a fake passport, on the name of Gordon Wild. Do you guys think what I'm thinking?" Tony's eyes got a distant look. "It's a Corvette, not an Aston Martin, but other than that… I'm thinking, Vodka Martini, shaken not stirred; I'm thinking Walther PPK, and of course, three generations of gorgeous women, most of them Miss Somewhere..." At this point, Gibbs lost his temper and gave him one of the famous slaps on the back of his head. Like always, Tony shut up immediately, swallowing down the rest of his movie reference.

"No, that's not what I'm thinking," Gibbs concluded in a sharp tone. "He wouldn't have hidden his ammunition just for fun. If he kept it all in there… where's his gun?" Abby shrugged. "I basically turned the insides of that car out, I couldn't find it. I even thought about x-raying it, to be sure… But I'm pretty positive there's no gun in there."

Ziva looked not totally convinced herself, but she gave her input nevertheless. "Maybe it's at his apartment – or the killer took it." – "Took the gun and beat the guy to death?" Tony gave her a puzzled look. "The guy's got a higher IQ than McGeek or Abby. I mean, he's basically anything _but_ dumb. Why would he take Sieger's gun, and then kill the guy by beating him up?" Ziva helped him spin the conundrum even further. "Or, if Sieger had the firearm, why would he suffer a heavy beating to the death by Callahan, instead of just shooting the guy who attacked him?" Gibbs frowned. He needed to go, work on his boat. If he worked with his hands, he would have better thoughts than he had right now. "Good work, Abby. Go home, everyone, get some sleep. DiNozzo, Ziva, I want you two to check out Sieger's apartment first thing tomorrow."


	6. Conspiracy Theory

Hej guys,

Sorry for the long delay, but this was a particlarly hard one or some reasons. First, I didn't really get into the right mood in the Danny-Steve scene, but I hope I pulled it off in the end nevertheless. The language barrier is worse than I thought, I really have trouble at times finding the right words. So - I'm always open for suggestions to make parts sound more realistic!

Second, the university term is coming to an end these next few weeks, which means a bunch of extra workload. But don't panic, the next chapter's already in work.

As always, read and review please, and if anyone wants to join the forum and do some guess work on where I'm going, I'd be delighted :D.

Enjoy!

* * *

**6. Conspiracy Theory**

_In front of the MPD Precinct | Saturday, 9th July 2012 | 8:53 am_

"Hey, wait up!" Kono halted and turned around. Detective Broderick waved jogging towards her, so she made some quick steps away from her team to meet him halfway. "We just found Browning's address," the MPD detective informed her and handed her a sheet of paper. "It's down in Liberty City. Thought I might spare you an extra trip down there, since you're on your way anyways."

Kono took the sheet of paper and gave the detective a wide smile, which made him beam instantly. "Thanks, Detective." – "Oh, no, thank you guys. We're really glad we don't have to work this case on top of all the rest, too! I mean, you're a cop, you know how it is." Actually, Kono didn't know how it was, other than from what Chin and her other cop family members had told her – but she could understand how it was. They were fighting a drug war up here, a triple homicide was the last thing they needed to work on, especially one so sensitive.

"Trust me, I get it", she replied friendlily. "_Mahalo_, Detective."

"What did he want?" Chin asked as soon as she got to the car, where the other three team members were waiting already. "Kono, you should just give that guy your number, or not – you know, save him some pain and labour," Danny grinned broadly.

Kono was about to shoot a sharp reply in his direction, but when she saw his grin, she got a better idea. "Actually, he wanted to know if you're still single, Danno. I told him to go for it." – "Oh, snap, Coz!" As Chin and Steve started to laugh, Danny stroke his hair back in a slightly embarrassed gesture, murmuring something along the lines of "Oh, alright… that's nice…"

"He also gave me this while he was at it," Kono disrupted the merriment around her. "Seems like the MPD found Browning's address down in Liberty City."

Steve took the sheet of paper from her hand, looked it over and clapped her on the shoulder. "Let's roll everyone."

* * *

_Crime Scene in Liberty City, Miami | same day | 10:02 am_

Danny got out of the car and gave a last smile to Kono, who was sitting on the front passenger seat. He knew she hadn't taken his earlier remark personally, she never did. Girl had a thick skin, and she was always up for a little bantering amongst friends.

"Danno, mind telling me why you insisted we take the crime scene and leave Browning's flat to Chin and Kono?" Steve had shut his car door and watched as Chin was driving away.

Danny didn't comment on that for a few seconds, merely taking the case file out of Steve's hand and walking into the small side street. When he saw the chalk body marks on the ground, he stopped and looked around. "When I was a cop, back in New Jersey, you know how often we asked for help from outsiders?" Steve frowned slightly, playing along. "Don't know, Danno, three, four times? What's your point?" – "Never. We never asked for help by outsiders, because that's just a no go as a police force." Steve, as usual, didn't seem to get his point right away – or he just liked nit-picking on Danny's points. "Wait, are you seriously telling me that you never asked the feds for help in a case?" Steve's tone suggested playful mockery, but for some reason, Williams wasn't up for their usual bickering right now.

Instead, the detective turned to Steve, raising his hands in exhaustion. "What's the matter with you, man? Of course we didn't! We called them when we had to, when we had no means to get the job done or when it was their jurisdiction. We didn't like it, but we did it." As usually, Danny was using wide gesturing, lifting his voice as he grew distressed.

Steve looked offended for a moment, as his partner seemingly stultified himself. Then, he used a reasonable, calm approach instead of teasing the other man any further. "Alright, Danno, so what's your point?" Danny sighed. "My point is, something's not right here. We're not the feds, we don't have _any_ jurisdiction in Miami. So, why call us? Why not call the FBI, or NCIS – or someone?"

"What're you telling me, that's our dead Marine, we were looking for that guy back on Hawaii!" Danny rolled his eyes. If Steve listened to him, just this once, instead of contradicting everything he said… "Sure. 'Our Marine', as you like to call him, was found, however, in Miami, next to two dead mobsters. _They_ say they're too busy working the case because they have so many guys working on the drug cartel stuff, but this _is_ drug cartel stuff. They probably have better insight in this than we do. And they could definitely have rung someone else. Just saying."

Steve listened, this time, then he blinked in confusion. "This is why we are working the crime scene and Kono and Chin are working the flat?" Steve still didn't get it, alright, how should he – he had never been a cop. "No, of course not, that's just the beginning. So, the MPD calls us here because they don't want to deal with this case on their own. Matter of _why_ aside, how thorough do you think they searched this crime scene?" – "You think the MPD forgot something? On purpose, I mean?" – "I think it's possible. Maybe they weren't as diligent as usually, since it wasn't going to be their crime scene. Maybe there's something… more sticky here than just a lot of stashed up police work." Steve obviously tried hard to keep it together, but this time, he lost his countenance. The ex-SEAL started to chuckle, he couldn't get a hold on himself before Danny gave him a really mad look.

"Okay," he finally said, brown eyes sparkling with amusement. "Okay, let's just say for a few seconds you haven't completely lost your mind, there is some sort of major conspiracy here and we're just pawns in someone else's game. And then let's take for granted that the MPD forensic team just walked about here doing anything but their jobs, missing major evidence. Do you honestly believe Kono and Chin wouldn't be able to notice that?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "God, no! All I'm saying is, I have a hunch, okay? I have a hunch that something's here not right." He was talking fast and agitated again, making that stubborn gesture he always got when he was out to prove a point. He hit his left palm with the side of his other hand as he pronounced every important syllable, trying to give his words a certain impact. "Chin and Kono are great people, great cops, okay? I won't say anything else, they're great cops, but Kono is still a little green and Chin has just lost his wife. I'm not saying they might miss something, but I have a hunch and they don't."

Steve frowned as he stepped next to Danny, looking around the crime scene, too. It was a typical backstreet ally, some graffiti sprayed on the ugly, unpainted walls, a trash container toppled over, its contents littering the street, the smell of puke and overripe fruit in the air.

"So you're saying you don't trust them to be thorough." Danny stroke his hair back, as tried to calm himself down. "I don't trust them to not trust the MPD. Whole different story."

Steve frowned at him. If his partner had been newly assigned to him that day, he would probably have called an asylum to have him incarcerated. But he knew Danny for a while now, and had learnt to put some weight into his partner's hunches, however crazy one of them might sound. However, he felt he had to broach the subject again.

"Hold on for a second", he interrupted Danny, who was stepping towards the chalk marks, comparing them with the pictures of the victims in the file, "you're saying you don't trust the police?"

Danny shrugged. "I'm saying I don't _know_ the police. Maybe they're really, really swamped, more than I've ever encountered before, and all the Feds and the NCIS are swamped as well and can't take over. Maybe they have a mole and hope to flush him out, maybe… I don't know. All I know is that one thing: Back in New Jersey, we didn't like to call the feds and we would've rather shot ourselves than call some island special ops team to run one of our cases. And as much as I dislike Hawaii, I know one thing for sure: The cops there aren't wired differently. They've learned to respect Five-0 by now, but imagine them with the FBI. You can't tell me that everyone's happy we were called here, yet this detective Broderick greets us like family. It's just… off." Suddenly, Steve had a hunch of his own. Danny close to never got stupid, but he had been on occasion. And all of them had had to do with one thing, the most important thing in Danny's life: Family. "Wait, wait, wait… Is this paranoia about you missing Grace's tennis match?" Anger flashed up in Danny's eyes as soon as Steve brought his daughter into this discussion. He suddenly looked hurt and betrayed, scrutinizing Steve reproachfully. As he spoke, all the anger had vanished from his voice, however. It sounded rather weak, almost shaking, as he took a few steps back and pointed at Steve. "Don't make this about Grace; this has nothing to do with Grace."

Steve realized that he had taken a step too far. If Danny didn't want to tell him what was really going on, this had to wait. They had work to do anyways, and he could corner his partner later to ask him all the questions he had on his mind right now. Something was off, that was for sure, and it had nothing to do with MPD. Danny was looking for an outlet for his feelings – as far as Steve could tell from now it was anger, pain or frustration. He just hoped it wasn't something he had done. "Alright", he just said and looked over Danny's shoulder into the case file, "Walk me through it. What've we got?"

* * *

_Jacob Browning's flat, Miami Liberty City | same day | 10:21 am_

"Being a mobster obviously doesn't pay off as well as it used to do." Chin laid his head back and looked up the ugly building in front of them. "You sure it's this one?" – "Positive." Kono checked the address a second time, but they were obviously in the right place. The two cops exchanged a look, as they listened to a loud argument in an unknown language just above their heads, closely followed by the on-switching of loud music in all surrounding flats. "Nice neighbourhood," Kono commented, pushing some strands of hair behind her ear.

They went inside, facing a broken elevator. "Which floor did you say again?" – "Eighth." Luckily, Detective Broderick's notes were quite extensive, saving them the trouble of looking at every single nameplate in hopes of Jacob Browning putting his real name up front. They started climbing up the first flight of dirty stairs, at once noticing the typical smell of greasy cooking, stale booze and unwashed clothing often associated with the living quarters of the lower classes. "Could be worse, you know," Chin joked as they reached the first floor and jogged on to the second. "How so?" Kono already had a feeling where this was going, but if Chin was actually going to make a joke, she'd be the last person to stop him right now! "Could be the ninth floor." – "Bad shape, Coz?" Kono clapped Chin on his shoulder. She was about to ask him for a race up to the eighth floor, but she supressed that urge. Playing around foolishly in an environment like this might as well get them killed. "No, but that doesn't mean I have to be thrilled by a broken elevator, does it?" Chin winked at her – he actually winked! Kono smiled back brightly. Thank God, he was coming back from the dead. After his wife, Malia, had died suddenly, Chin had even more sincere than usual, shutting down completely and not letting anyone in. Kono had been very worried about him, feeling the pain of losing Malia, who had been a dear friend to her, as well as the self-imposed responsibility to look after her older cousin. Now it was six weeks later, this was their third case since Malia's death. Although Chin kept on telling her he was fine, she knew he was, in fact, not. And how could he be? He had been through hell, pushing Malia away from his side at times to protect her, then at last gaining his honour, gaining the love of his life back. And for what? Only to lose her again, and permanently this time. Kono didn't feel pity for her cousin, she in fact felt anger, hate even towards the cruel forces that kept on hurting him. How was any of that fair?

Finally, they reached the eighth floor, looking around. "It's the third on the left," Kono informed Chin silently, before they stepped closer to the door, both of them readying their guns. Browning was dead, but that didn't mean that his flat was clear.

Chin watched the corridor while his cousin picked the lock, then the two of them stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.

Both of them had taken out their guns, as they scanned the room. Carefully, they walked in opposite directions, moving to the two adjoining rooms. Like always in a situation like this, Kono's heart raced, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She was all on edge, ready to shoot at any second, while her eyes shot sharp glances in every corner, her finger on the trigger of her handgun. Even her breathing grew stealthy, as she opened the door to the adjoining room with her left hand, ready to shoot in case anyone might attack her.

She entered a bathroom, a dirty, claustrophobic sink. There was but enough room for a small lavatory, the stained toilet and a bath tub that seemed to have been squeezed into the corner with force. Water was running behind the shower curtain. Kono's hands shook slightly for just a second, then she had herself under control again. "Police, let me see your hands!" Her voice sounded harshly through the little room, but there was no reaction to her demand.

"Police, turn off the tap and get your hands up!" Kono's voice sounded firmly and sincere, just like Steve's always did. The repeated demand, however, got just as much attention as the first one.

Slowly, she stepped closer, laying one hand on the shower curtain and then pulling it away with force.

Water splashed in her direction, icy spray littered her top.

Kono exhaled, putting her gun away and leaning forward to turn the tap off. "Clear!" She said with raised voice, so that Chin might hear her. As she returned to the main room, however, he wasn't there. "Chin?" Kono narrowed her eyes, instinctively laying one hand on her gun again. "Kono…"

He still was in his adjoining room, and he didn't sound good. Quickly, Kono locked and loaded her gun. With a few strides, she was at the door to the adjoining room that stood halfway open. "Kono, don't move," she could hear her cousin's voice, yet she couldn't see him. This time, her heartbeat quickened for a reason. Her palms became sweaty, as she froze where she stood. What should she do now? 'Don't move', why would he say that to her? What was the matter?

Dozens of possible dangers rushed through her mind. A tripwire, connected to explosives. A biological weapon, in the form of a human body… And whatever it was, Chin was facing it without her. She needed to get in there, desperately, to help him!

The low, dangerous growl on the other side of the door made her stiffen out of natural instinct. She wasn't exactly afraid of dogs. Nice dogs, that was… Kono had been bitten by a Rottweiler when she was five years old, and although she had befriended a bunch of nice dogs since, a certain fear of a growling dog had remained inside her. Dogs could be dead dangerous. A wave of panic rose inside the Officer, as the dog's growl became a menacing, low bark.

"Good boy," she could hear her cousin talk to the angry animal, "you're a good boy, aren't you? Stay, stay right there…" Chin's back was moving towards her, slowly, as he took one step after the other. Another step, another step… Kono moved backwards as well, just so slightly, to let him pass her. The barking stopped and the Officer saw how Lieutenant Kelly froze where he stood. A snarl, and Chin suddenly jumped backwards, shutting the door shut violently – just in time, as it seemed, since there was a hard thud on the other side as a huge animal crashed against it. "German shepherd," Chin told her while they both stared at the door, that was rocked again and again under the angry beast's frequent attacks. "I'd say it hasn't eaten in a while." Kono had grown very pale, but she tried to get a hold of herself, facing her childish fears. "It sure sounds hungry," she answered, still a little bit shaky. "We'll need a vet to drop that thing, I'm not going in there without at least a dart gun!" Chin nodded. "I agree. You call the MPD, I'll start searching the rest of this place."

Now that the apartment was officially clear, Kono glanced around while she took out her phone to speed dial the precinct. This place was a mess: Half-empty and empty fast food boxes, dirty clothes all over the floor, the sweet stench of Marihuana, sweat and far too much deodorant in combination with a wet dog. The carpeted floor had maybe once been blue, now it displayed a green-greyish colouring with brown and yellow stains all over it. It was impossible to say if there had once been a pattern in that blue rug, yet now there certainly was one – and Kono was pretty sure it had by now developed a life of its own. The windows were the dirtiest she had ever seen, giving the room an underwater flair as they dimmed the incidental Miami sun into some sort of twilight. There was a table with four chairs, one of them toppled over. Either there had been a fight of some sort, or the owner – more likely – had knocked it over some day, never bothering to put it upright again and using it as the bottom of another pile of dirty socks and pizza cartons instead. In the corner next to what Kono assumed to be the kitchen – where the dog now, finally, stopped behaving like a mad animal - stood a bed, the sheets undone. It served as base for another pile system of sorts, with paperwork, beer bottles and shoes as far as she could tell. "Cosy…" Chin murmured as he put on some latex gloves and lifted up a stained T-shirt with two fingers.

Kono finished her phone call and went to the bathroom, while Chin stayed in the main room. "Oh yes," she could hear her cousin sigh, "this is going to be a long day." Just in that moment, the dog barked again and a heavy thud banged against the kitchen door. Silently, Kono sighed too.


	7. Pawn Sacrifice

Hey guys,

finally here's the next chapter! This was a particularly hard one to write for me, and I think it turned out less gripping and more lengthy than it was in my head. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. Thanks to all my faithful readers, you really keep my going.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Pawn Sacrifice**

_Shooting sight, Port of Los Angeles | Friday, 8th July 2012 | 12:06 am_

"Sam!" Callen watched in shock as his partner dropped to the ground, but he got a hold of himself very fast. The acts of rushing forward, helping Sam up and dragging him out of the line of fire were like a natural reflex. _"Agent Callen, can you make out our other team from your position?"_ Hetti's voice jarred in his earpiece, almost inaudible because of the constant clattering of automatic gunfire hitting the container behind which the two agents had taken cover. Callen looked around hastily, but the other team wasn't visible from where he was squatting. "Negative, no sign of Coulby or Donahue." He had to speak up, but he still was worried she wouldn't understand what he was saying. "Nell, can you see how many attackers there are?" It sure sounded like a whole bunch of bad guys, he couldn't tell how many because of the immense noise of bullets hitting the metal container. Callen cursed silently, as he shared a look with Sam. "Nell, do you copy?"

Silence was the only answer he would get. Their communication had been cut off. "Nell! Coulby, Donahue, do you copy?" Callen's last try sounded more desperate than professional in his own ears. "Seems we're alone on this one, G." Sam spoke with teeth clenched against the pain, as Callen looked at him he noticed how short of breath his partner was. "You okay?" Adrenaline rushed through Callen's veins, as their eyes met. "Just a scratch." Sam was usually one of the better liars, but Callen just knew his partner too well to fall for it. Sam was in pain, even if he didn't want to show it. Something here went terribly wrong.

"Did you see the shooter?" Sam shook his head. Talking was difficult with the bullets still disrupting the air. "They're shooting without a target," the former SEAL confirmed Callen's thoughts. "Either they want to show us how vastly outgunned we are, or they're plain stupid." – "Let's hope for the second one." Callen didn't voice the third option that occurred to him. Maybe they did have a target other than him and his partner. Maybe they were shooting at Donahue and Coulby.

The two agents readied themselves, then Callen drew the fire, rushing right through the crossfire while Sam gave him cover, making it to the protection of another container but by an eyelash. They waited for just two seconds in order to reload; then both of them bolted out into the open line of fire, each taking down one of the other shooters before falling back into cover. As an answer, rhythmic gunfire hit the air where they had stood just a few seconds before; Callen felt one bullet grazing past him so narrowly that it ripped through the cloth of his sleeve and left a burning mark on his skin. A few hand signals were exchanged, and then the two agents knew what to do next. This time, Callen gave Sam cover as the agent drew the fire and crossed over to Callen's container, seeking protection there. Worried, Callen noticed the blood stain on Sam's right sleeve. "Three down," Sam informed him casually, "but at least four more to go. We can't win this one, G." Callen knew his partner was right. This time, they were as good as done for, and he couldn't rely on Sam as fully as he usually did.

"Cover me while I try something." They desperately needed communication, and if their earpieces didn't work, there was one more way to go… he hoped.

He needed but one look on the little display of his mobile phone to realize that his idea was worthless. "Don't tell me, dead as well?" Sam's sarcasm couldn't have come at a moment less appreciated. Callen ran a hand through his military short hair; then risked another look in the direction of their attackers. Promptly, more gunfire disrupted the air and hit the container. "They jammed everything at once, it seems." Callen put his phone away and motioned up to one of the observation cameras of the area that now lacked the shining red light that usually bore witness to its activity. "Damn well equipped for a bunch of mob soldiers." Grimly, Sam reloaded his gun once more. "How many shots do you have left?"

Callen needed not check, he knew the answer to this question already. "Four rounds and then I'm down to my last ammo clip. You?" – "Twelve more rounds."

Twenty-two bullets were all they had left. _I didn't expect it to end today_, Callen thought suddenly, realizing how close they were to not making it this time. Fatalistically, he pondered on his sister's grave for a second or two, wondering if Hetti would put him next to the last member of his family.

"I say we make every last one of those count." Sam didn't reply, but the locking of his gun was just as clear, and the dark expression on his face said just as much. He wasn't done living, either.

Without another unnecessary word, the two agents jumped out from behind their container, giving each other cover as they charged for the shooters.

Just in time, they took cover again, both gasping for air after the sprint through a hail of bullets. "Dammit, where did those guys come from?" G couldn't hold it to himself for long this time. He was usually a very calm person, but being shot at didn't exactly count to his favourite games. Being shot at without being able to fight back accordingly, however, was definitely one of his least favourite activities. "I got one more down, I think, but I can't localize all of them." – "I'm pretty sure I missed, there's at least three more to the left side." Sam grit his teeth together, as a small blood trickle ran down his hand, sending small drops to the ground. "Nell, do you copy?" Callen already knew it wouldn't help, but he had to try nevertheless. Sam wasn't in any condition to go on with this shooting match, they were outnumbered and outgunned and had a pair of agents unaccounted for as it seemed.

In this moment, a bullet hit the metal container right next to Sam's head. Instantly, both agents dropped to the ground, but there was nowhere to take cover if you didn't know where the shot originated from. "Crap, how could they have surrounded us that well?" Obviously, their attackers had managed to position a team of shooters right behind the two agents, letting them walk into a trap all by themselves!

"How the hell could we miss that? G, we're better than this!" – "We'll be deader than this for sure, if we don't get moving now," Callen replied with a strain on his voice. The tension, the sudden fear inside him, was almost unbearable. He didn't want to die!

* * *

_Port of Los Angeles Region | 8 minutes later_

"Where the hell is that SWAT unit?" Kensi turned down the motor and both agents jumped out of the car, looking about. "They're supposed to wait for us right here!" – "Seems they went on in without us," Deeks answered, nodding towards the two SUVs right next to their car and fastening the last strip of his bullet-proof vest, while Kensi was still putting hers on.

"Nell, we don't have visual on the SWAT unit. I repeat, negative on visual on the SWAT unit." Kensi touched her ear in order to be understood better. "Nell, do you copy? Nell?!"

Nothing.

"It's dead," Kensi told Deeks, growing a little bit pale. "They're jamming quite the region here," Deeks answered with a slight frown, checking if his gun was properly loaded for the fifth or sixth time since they had left HQ. He pulled out the satellite phone he had taken with him in order to be able to make contact within the jammed region. Then he held it up for Kensi to see. "It's dead too! Something's not right here, Kens, we should probably wait – " Kensi didn't listen to him, instead she already charged towards the region of their last contact with Callen and Sam. With a curse on his lips, Deeks followed on her heels.

They screened the area, but time was running against them. There was just too little time, too many containers, too large an area to search for just a pair of agents. Then they heard it – gunshots, coming from the south. They needn't even exchange a glance, they rushed towards the fighting sounds, careful to take as much cover as possible and still move as fast as they could. "Over there!" Deeks motioned towards two dark figures on the ground, before he moved in on them, trusting on Kensi to cover him. His heart raced like hell, especially when he noticed the writing on their vests. Four large, white letters, forming an abbreviation he was only too familiar with. NCIS.

He sank to his knees next to the first body, checking for a pulse. He waited, two seconds, three, four, five. Six. He knew, he had to count to twenty in order to be sure. It felt like the longest twenty seconds in his life, until he finally felt it – a heartbeat, fleetingly vague, but it was there. "He's alive," he informed Kensi, moving to the next body. Again, he fumbled for the pulse, his hand strangely shaky as he did so. One, two, three… The man in front of him groaned, then whimpered, as he opened his eyes. "We need an ambulance, now," Deeks told Kensi, knowing full well that she couldn't just call for an ambulance with their entire communication down. "One of us needs to stay with them and stabilize them, the other goes out and directs the ambulance here." – "We haven't secured the perimeter yet," Kensi objected. He could see her inner conflict as she spoke. "Yes, but that could take hours, hours we don't have."

In some distance, they could hear sirens nearing. "See, they're coming," Kensi told him, her voice trembling with the tiny sparkle of hope he could feel, too. "They don't know where we are," Deeks cursed, while he pressed his hands on Agent Coulby's neck wound, trying desperately to slow the bleeding down. Kensi, who had her hands pressed to Agent Donahue's torso, where the vest had been disrupted by a large calibre bullet, looked at him, shared a look. She, too, was scared out of her wits, although she held herself together somehow. "Listen, one of us has to go, find Sam and Callen," she explained, but the inner conflict was obvious. "We can't just leave them, so you stay, and I'll go and find them. You stabilize them until the paramedics get here, alright?"

Deeks shook his head, and before she could object, he grabbed Agent Coulby and dragged him down next to Donahue, positioning his wound so that Kensi could reach it with one of her hands. "No, you're a better screamer, you wait for the medics. I'll go get the others."

Kensi looked up at him, her worry instantaneously mixed with anger. _What the hell was the matter with him, had he lost the last bit of his wits?_ "No, wait, I'm the better shot, I should…" But he was already on the move, leaving her to press her hands on either of her colleagues, hoping, praying that they wouldn't bleed out. In some distance, the sirens stopped, probably next to her car. She couldn't call for help, not loudly; the danger was far too intense – but what else was she supposed to do? There were still bad guys out here, the area wasn't secure. Coulby looked up at her, his lips moved, bloody bubbles formed in the corner of his mouth as he tried to say something. "No, don't, save your strength," Kensi whispered, her fingers numb with the pressure she needed to hold the disrupted veins shut. There was blood, so much blood… she wasn't craven, and she wasn't unaccustomed to some blood, but this… it was everywhere, on her clothes, her hands, the ground, so much blood, she could feel it pulse out between her fingers, washing the life out of her two comrades. "Stay with me, Coulby," Kensi begged, "stay with me, don't go anywhere. They're almost here, you'll be fine, you'll…" Her eyes and Coulby's locked in a changed stare at each other, he opened his mouth again, gasping violently, spraying her top with blood, as he whispered something. Kensi leaned in forward, trying to catch his last words. "—i—er…" was all she understood, then there was a "—per," but before Coulby could force his shattered larynx to utter another vowel, life left his eyes.

* * *

Deeks knew there was not much time, but he also knew how insanely stupid his actions were. There was no point in rushing in a dangerous situation like this, without backup, without help, without even the slightest bit of intel from OBS. It was downright crazy, probably even suicidal. It also was his only choice, if he were to safe Sam and Callen. The further he advanced into the harbour area, the less he heard of the sirens behind him. Instead, there were new, loud banging noises – gunshots. He tried to be careful following them, but when you didn't know where you were going and how many enemies you were up against, this was easier said than done. Never before had he longed so desperately for the guiding voice in his earpiece, for an audio-commentary by Nell or Erik or even Hetty – or someone, anyone.

He surrounded another container – so many containers, how on earth was he supposed to search around all of them on his own? – and suddenly, finally, he made visual contact. He could see four guys with SMGs, who obviously had someone cornered. Deeks needn't think twice this time, they were shooting wildly at someone; he would have bet his life that this someone were Sam and Callen. There was no need to announce himself, Deeks just aimed, shot, and aimed again in order to shoot a second guy in the lower back before the remaining two realised he even was there, turned around and opened their fire at him. He managed to jump back, taking cover, but the rain of bullets came awfully close. Hastily, he rushed around the container, circling it in order to surprise his enemies from another angle. It worked. As he approached the "bad guys" again, he could hear one single shot, then he saw the last shooter rush towards him and aimed at him. "LAPD, drop your gun, NOW!" The guy hesitated. Just as Deeks was ready to shoot him, no more questions asked, he dropped the SMG and lifted his hands over his head.

While he moved in on the man, kicking the SMG out of range, Deeks noticed how silent it had become. As if the harbour region was holding its breath suddenly. There was still the sound of sirens in a distance, but no more bullets hitting metal containers. It was over.

"Sam? Callen?" Deeks shouted out while he put handcuffs on the man he had just disarmed, only to see Sam coming towards him, gun still in his hand, a growing bloodstain on his sleeve. "Deeks. I've got to admit, I've never been this happy to see your scruffy face."

"Right?" Callen stepped beside Sam, carrying four SMGs that he had just collected. "Scruffy?" Deeks clapped his mouth open in rebellion. "I just saved your skins, and all you have is… scruffy?" Both agents grinned, and although he was playfully cross with them, Deeks grinned too. At least they were still alive and in good humour.

Callen stepped closer to the guy Deeks had arrested. "What the hell did you guys plan here? This wasn't just a drug bust gone wrong, was it?" The man opened his mouth, but before he could say but one word, his head was thrust backwards. A shower of read covered Sam and Deeks, before the corpse sacked to the ground.

All three men pulled out their guns, rushing towards the containers to be less easy targets. Another shot almost hit Deeks' head, he was missed by nothing more than two inches. Panicking, he rushed forwards, taking cover on Sam's and Callen's side of the open space between two containers. "What the hell…" Deeks had grown entirely pale, his heart rate was jacked. "Sniper," Sam replied in a grim tone. Callen nodded and looked over to the police officer. "You okay?" – "No?!" Deeks' voice slipped up, just a little bit, but he could not entirely conceal how freaked out he was. He hated to hover here like sitting ducks, not being able to do something, to fight back. "Shots came from over there," Callen murmured, motioning in a direction. "Alright, let's go get this son of a bitch," Sam clapped Deeks' upper arm hardly – probably meaning to tell him he was glad to still have him among the living – and they stood up, rushing towards the danger, trying to take cover whenever they could and to move as fast as possible.

Twice, bullets hit the containers close to their heads, each time missing one of them by mere inches, probably only thanks to their being constantly moving targets. Each time, Sam and Callen managed to determine where the shots had originated from; the second time Callen even saw a small flash of light, on top of a crane. Hurriedly, they closed in on the sniper's location, this time without being shot at. When they got there, their attacker had vanished without a trace. Sam managed to find a shell case that the shooter had dropped by accident, probably in the hurry of getting away. And then, as if it had only waited for the fight to stop, their communication was back on.

* * *

_Port of Los Angeles | Friday, 8th July 2012 | 12:32 am_

They joined Kensi just in time to see how the paramedics covered Coulby's body with a blanket. "Donahue is already on his way to the hospital," Kensi told them, her arms red up to her elbows, her clothes and even parts of her hair covered in blood. Tearstains marked their paths through the red that only enhanced the ghastly white of her face. Sam took her in his arms, and for once, Kensi didn't even try to object. She just pulled her arms around him and buried her face on his shoulder, before she drew lose again. "I'm fine," she stated, and although she said it in a very shaky voice, no one disagreed. Callen just touched her shoulder in a sympathetic manner, when Deeks looked at her, she turned away and looked Sam over. "Are you alright?" – "Just a scratch," Sam shrugged his wound off, at once grimacing. Now that the adrenaline-rush was over, the pain started to sink in. "You should have that checked out," Callen ordered calmly. "I'll shortly join you, Kensi'll ride on the ambulance with you. Deeks, if you're fine, you should stay with the crime scene, call HQ for some backup and start working." – "Just call me if you guys need anything," Deeks said, looking especially at Kensi. Her eyes evaded him.

No one objected Callen's order. It seemed as if they didn't have any more fight in them.


	8. Guns and Corgies

Hej guys,

sorry for the long wait! To make up for it, here's a rather long chapter! We're slowly closing in on the crossover... but we're definitely closing in ;).

Thanks to all my raters and reviewers and to the guys who favourited and followed me. You really keep me going!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Guns and Corgies**

_3100 Sumter Ave, Baltimore, Maryland (PO Sieger's flat) | Saturday, 9th July 2012 | 8:45 am_

"I'm telling you, if McLazy is faking this, I'll have him do my paper work for the rest of his life." – "He is _not_ faking it, Tony!" Ziva glared back at her partner. "So he's sick and can't come to work. It happens."

Tony looked at his own reflection in the elevator mirror, pushing some strands of his hair to his forehead. "No it doesn't. McGeek doesn't get sick, he only gets _'sick'_", Tony made a quotation mark gesture that suggested a difference between the two kinds of sick. "Remember where he was the last time he called in _sick_? Right, at a comic book convention. And the time before that? Covering for his murderous sister! Just saying!"

Ziva groaned inwardly. She had been listening to Tony's bantering for no more than approximately less than three minutes – the very limited amount of time it had taken her to meet him downstairs, press the elevator button and get up to the sixth floor – but it already felt like an entire day. "Sarah did _not_ commit that murder, ergo she is as innocent as a _lamp_. McGee just did what we all would have done in the same situation; he was looking out for his family." – "_Ergo_? Seriously?" – "Shut up!" – "And it's as innocent as a _lamb_, actually." Ziva glared at him, but the threat didn't work like she had hoped. Tony just grinned and returned to checking himself out in the mirror.

The former Mossad officer sighed. Finally, the elevator stopped and with a soft "bing", the doors slid open. "You got the keys?"

Tony pulled them out of his pocket, waving them around in front of Ziva's face. "Next time you get them. That woman has not one, not three, but the ridiculous amount of _twelve_ cats. And one of them just had kittens. Meaning she has _even more_ cats now. Delightful, I can tell you – especially the smell. And of course, she needed me to meet all of them before she could manage to look for that damned key…" Ziva knew, 'that woman' was Sieger's landlady, an elderly woman of fifty-seven. They had tossed a coin the evening before, to determine which one of them could sleep in ten minutes and just bring the coffee, while the other one talked to the landlady and got them a set of spare keys. Tony had lost. Heads was always a bad call. Ziva always called tails, and she almost always won. _When it matters, anyhow._

Amused about Tony's frustration, she grabbed the key from his hand and stepped out into the hallway. "Did she also tell you about her tenant?" – "He lived alone according to her, nice young man, always paid the rent and kept to himself. Also, Minush likes her food hand-warm, which is why it is best to put it in the microwaves for just _teeeen_ seconds…" – "Who is Minush?" Ziva turned around, confused.

"I think it was the brown one, with the white sprinkles… no, that's Sprinkles. Obviously. No, Minush is the red one with the funny eyes." – "WHAT?!"

"Cats, Ziva, cats." Tony grabbed the key from her hands again, approaching Sieger's door. "Sweet landlady, though. Next time, you talk to the crazy old wench." – "You know, we could flip a coin over it," Ziva suggested calmly. Tony looked at her suspiciously, and she managed to keep a stern expression. As soon as he turned around to open the door, though, she grinned broadly. DiNozzo drove her nuts sometimes, that much was true. Still, he was a fun person to be around. She liked teasing him; he brought out a side of her she usually didn't show to outsiders.

They went into the victim's apartment. Tony whistled through his teeth. "That guy had excellent taste. Great car _and_ great place. I can't believe he didn't have a girlfriend…" – "He was on deployment three quarters of the year. It's hard to maintain a serious relationship like that." Both agents pulled some gloves from their pocket and stripped them on, crossing the luxurious hallway – white shoe racks with at least two dozen different pairs of expensive man shoes, most of them leather – and going on into the living room. "Just look at that," Tony murmured. "Not bad for a PO – he has a view. Can you afford a view on your salary? Or a place like this, for that matter?" Ziva's gaze wandered over the white leather couch, the fine wood floor, the flat screen that made the adjective 'massive' sound like an understatement. In that same moment, DiNozzo saw it too. "Alright, correction: He has _two_ views." – "No, this here is way above my pay grade," Ziva admitted calmly, walking towards the kitchen. "So what are we thinking? Rich parents?"

Tony shook his head, opening a door and gazing into the marble bathroom. "Not according to his file, no." – "Drugs?" – "Could be, he definitely made some money on the side and since he had a rather low paid job for Uncle Sam that takes up a lot of your spare time, I'd say he was pretty good at what he did on the side."

"So why work as a PO, anyways?"

Tony shrugged. "Maybe he's a patriot." Ziva had another idea. "Maybe he's just using the navy for cover?" – "You're the spy, you tell me. Is that something you would do?" – "Long term? No, it's too impractical. I mean, you can't really influence where you'll be sent. You spend months on a ship, so unless you need something from that particular ship, it would be really stupid to risk having a military record. Also his security clearance was nowhere near important intelligence, whatever he might have found out 'accidentally', would in no way have compensated the risk of him spying on board of a US Navy Ship."

Tony opened his mouth to reply something – probably a savvy remark of some sort – but he halted where he stood, his hand jerking to his waist. "You hear that?" He whispered. Ziva nodded, she had her gun out already. Together, they walked towards the last door they hadn't cleared yet – probably the bedroom. Her partner only mouthed the question this time, avoiding any additional sound. "On three?" Ziva read Tony's lips, and nodded, while he held up one, then two, then three fingers. The ex-Mossad officer dashed the door open while her partner took aim. "NCIS! Freeze!"

Both agents stared at their marks. "Oh, shit", the young man called out, covering his bareness with a cushion, while the girl he had been sharing some intimacy with shrieked and pulled the sheets around her to conceal her body. "What the hell?"

Ziva needn't turn her head. She already knew that Tony was grinning all over his face. And for once, it took all her self-restraint not to do the same thing.

"Well, well," DiNozzo's voice sounded like that of a purring tomcat, "and who might you two lovebirds be?"

The girl recovered herself from the shock very quickly. "You have no right to be here! This is private property…" – "Actually we have every right to be here, whereas you two are clearly trespassing on a dead Petty Officer's – king-sized, might I add – bed. I don't know, Ziva, do you think you would lend your bed to two strangers just like that? I know I wouldn't..."

Ziva didn't respond. She still had her gun in her hands, casually, ready to pull it up if necessary. She almost felt sorry for the two people, having a coitus interruptus like that. She was pretty sure, if something like that ever happened to her, she would not like Tony to be the one interrupting her. He was as sensitive as a rock and as smart assed as a… smart-ass.

"Who the hell are you people?" – "Naval Criminal Investigative Service." This time, Ziva was quicker than her partner. "We're investigating a murder case." – "Murder? Who was murdered? Wait – no – you mean that… whom exactly are we supposed to have killed?!" Slowly, the message seemed to trickle in. It was about time, the girl clearly wasn't one of the sharpest. On the other hand, she had suffered a minor shock. Ziva decided to give her that much benefit of the doubt.

"And the two of you just made our suspect list. Congratulations!" Tony pulled out some handcuffs – just for show, Ziva hoped, to scare them into telling the truth. "So, who are you and what were you doing here…" – "What did it look like we were doing?" The young man snapped at her as soon as she had tried to gather some information.

"Aren't you Mr. Funny Guy." Tony liked smart remarks, when he made them himself. Getting them back from a suspect, Ziva knew, he didn't like so much, and strangely, he even got protective when she asked a question and someone gave her a savvy response.

"You can either answer our questions right here, or we can take you back to NCIS. We have a lovely interrogation room, not just as cosy as in here, the company of our boss is not nearly as pleasant as we are… but just go on, suit yourselves." Blankly, the two naked people in the bed stared back. "Last chance," DiNozzo added, "who are you, how did you get in here. Shoot."

None of the agents was prepared for the young man's reaction. Suddenly he darted up, completely naked, and made a run for the fire scale, jumping through the open window and rushing downward. "Oh, you've got to be kiddin' me…" Tony groaned, while Ziva shouted at the girl. "Don't move, or I shoot! Get your hands up!"

Her partner rushed out of the window in pursuit of their suspect, while Ziva secured the premises and the second civilian. Ziva was a little bit pissed off, too, but the irony of the scene still got to her. Tony chasing a naked guy… too bad McGee was sick. He would have _loved_ that. Hell, Abby would _love_ that. Hopefully, there were some security cameras out there, so that they could watch it later on in Abby's lab…

"Put on some clothes, Miss," the Israeli informed her prisoner, a dark smile on her face. "I'd say, you're coming with us."

They could hear two pairs of feet on the fire scale outside, one soft and fleshy and the second one loud and hard, caused by DiNozzo's Gucci shoes. Ziva listened while she was still aiming at the girl. No way was she going to let her run, too…

"Stop right there, federal agent! Don't make me tackle you! Argh, damn it!" A scream, the sound of two bodies hitting the ground, angry fighting noise. Ziva slowly stepped towards the window, not leaving the girl out of her sight. Then she risked a short glance six stories down to DiNozzo, who was sitting on top of the naked man, putting handcuffs on him. "Are you enjoying yourself, Tony?" Ziva's face beamed mischievously. Yes, this day was getting better by the minute.

* * *

_Pathology in NCIS HQ (Washington D.C.) | same day | 9:36 am_

"Careful you don't miss a stitch there, Mr. Palmer," Ducky reminded his young assistant while they were closing up the body.

"Oh, thank you, Doctor Mallard." – "Yes, yes, you're welcome." Ducky lay down his own needle and watched how Palmer corrected his mistake. "It's not usually like you to be so distracted, Jimmy, is everything alright? If I might ask so?" The assistant looked up, a stern expression on his face. "Now that you mention it, Doctor Mallard… I didn't want to seem out of place, or insensitive or…" – "Get to the point, Jimmy, we don't have all day."

"Eh… I… I actually wanted to ask you the same thing." Taken aback, Ducky looked at the younger man. "Whatever do you want to imply with that, Mr. Palmer?" – "Nothing, I… I don't. It's just…" Palmer started twisting the needle between his fingers, obviously not knowing how to say it. "For heaven's sake, spit it out already!"

Jimmy sighed; then nodded. "Okay, so here it comes… I wanted to ask if you were okay, because of what happened to your… your mother." Ducky's jaw dropped. "You mean that she died?" – "Oh… ehm… yes, that's what I meant. I know, it's been eight weeks now, but you… you didn't say anything. You never mention how you're doing, so I just thought I'd…" – "You thought you'd check on my mental well-being?"

Jimmy reddened like a tomato. "No, not your mental state, I was more thinking… like emotionally. I lost my dad when I was fourteen, so… so I get what it means to lose a parent."

For the first time since the conversation had started, Ducky didn't interrupt Jimmy, but waited for him to talk on.

"I really didn't mean to intrude, you don't have to answer, I just thought I'd…"

Ducky nodded calmly, sorting through his medical equipment, placing one scalpel on the tablet parallel to the next one, as if to keep his hands busy.

"I get it. Thank you, Mr. Palmer." – "I didn't want to appear… nosy or something." Palmer obviously tried to avoid making the wrong impression. "I just had to ask because…" – "Because we are friends, and you care for my well-being." Ducky's smile was sad, his eyes glittered slightly, but he didn't seem to be mad. "Thank you, Mr. Palmer, I am doing quite… alright." Palmer nodded, not expecting anything more than that, but he was surprised when his mentor talked on, as if suddenly, a dam of self-restraint and bravery had broken down.

"It is strange, the house seems to be so empty now. Of course, it was empty before, since I had placed her in assisted living for the last few years… but… still. I miss her at moments of the day I usually didn't even think about her. I even miss her Corgies, those bloody nuisances. I couldn't take it on me to keep them, and the residential care home could not keep them, neither. No space, no one to take them on walks."

"So you had to place them in an animal shelter?" Palmer managed the art of multi-tasking as he talked and continued closing up the body in front of him.

"No, I couldn't do that either. The poor things… My mother had a nice friend from church, who owns a bunch of dogs, too. I asked her and she took them in, some of them she placed in nice families, others she kept for herself. She says it reminds her of my mum, to keep them close. And one of them… Tyson… we had to put him under. Grief. He stopped eating after… it happened. Just stopped. The veterinarian said there was nothing else he could do for the poor thing. I even broke into the graveyard at night, buried him next to my mother. She would have loved that, Tyson was her favourite."

Palmer's eyes were a bit shiny now, too, but he blinked the tears away forcefully.

"It's interesting, though," Ducky managed to talk on in his usual, casual tone, "did you know that dogs have been man's best friend since the Stone Ages? Actually, there are large disputes about when the first animals were domesticated, but it must have been about 100,000 and 15,000 years ago. Yes, yes, the first men actually had half-tame packs of wolves that would help them find prey and would warn them if natural enemies were approaching. Today, there are over 800 different dog breeds, not including the many thousands of possible mixes."

"Any of those kill the Petty Officer?" Gibbs entered the autopsy, stopping Ducky in his tale before the doctor could actually start to relate all he knew about dogs and breeds and the faithfulness of the furry creatures to mankind.

"No, Jethro, unless they learned how to punch people." Ducky and Palmer exchanged a stern look, silently settling to abandon their previous topic and going over to their jobs.

"Alright, what do you have for me, Ducky?" Special agent Gibbs stepped closer, looking at the dead body. Dr. Mallard didn't need the written version of his findings; he just told his friend the short version from the back of his head. "Cause of death was, just as I suspected, is organ failure due to extensive internal bleeding. The petty officer suffered a serious beating, and one of his attacker's blows ruptured the spleen." – "The spleen is a very delicate organ, it's also one of the organs who are best supplied with blood. When ruptured, it bleeds extensively. Much like a sprinkler, actually…" – "Yes, thank you, Mr. Palmer," Ducky interrupted his young assistant.

"What Mr. Palmer tried to explain, is that a ruptured spleen is far more common than most people expect. If not treated accordingly, it will be fatal after a little while. In the case of our petty officer, I'd say he was lying on the floor of that warehouse for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes without medical attention after being hit over the head. Based on the haemorrhaging on his brain, I'd say he suffered a mild concussion, causing him to lose consciousness. It took about ten minutes after the original rupture of the spleen for the internal blood loss to be severe. Hadn't he already been unconscious, he'd probably lost consciousness about five to ten minutes after that, and he died approximately thirty minutes after the original rupture."

Ducky motioned to a dark haemorrhagic shadow on the man's skull. "The size and shape are consistent with a small blunt object, possibly but not necessarily a handgun grip. Bring me a weapon and I might be able to determine whether it is a possible match or not."

Gibbs frowned. "So you're telling me the killer probably didn't even realize at the time he had murdered his victim?" – "It's hard to tell what the killer thought, but yes, it is quite possible that he thought he had just knocked the petty officer out. Especially if he didn't have any medical training and missed the bruise on Sieger's belly."

"Is that all?" – "I could have told you that on the phone, no, there's more. Look at all the post-mortal bruising." Ducky showed Gibbs the hands, face, but also upper body, arms and legs of the victim. "Some of these are defensive wounds or just injuries consistent with being beaten up, but when you look at his hands, you can see something else." – "The knuckles are all bashed open." – "Whoever beat him received an equally bad, if not worse, beating. If you look closely," Ducky walked over to his X-rays, "you can see that the metacarpal bones are almost all broken." – "He broke his hands when he punched the killer." – "Yes, and by the way the fractures have been displaced you can tell that he didn't stop to punch the other man even when he fractured his hands."

Gibbs voice was resolved when he drew the conclusion of Ducky's findings. "He fought to the death." – "Exactly, and violently so. Whoever killed this man, he must have been in similarly bad shape after the incident. Someone like that can't hide that easily."

Gibbs frowned suddenly. "The pool of blood on the crime scene, was that from the ruptured spleen as well?" – "No, actually I'd be surprised if a lot of it had been Sieger's. He suffered extensive _internal_ bleeding, his belly was full with his own blood – but there can't have been more than a few drops outside of it, except for what he lost from his broken nose and his open knuckles."

Gibbs stared at the dead body with his silent frown. Palmer and Ducky watched him for a moment, before Ducky finally dared to disrupt the agent's thoughts. "Are you quite alright, Jethro?" – "Actually… could you run another test for me?"

Ducky lifted his eyebrows. "If you mean a tox-screen, I did that, it came back negative. No alcohol or drug abuse, at least not in the last seventy-two hours." – "No, could you check his hands for gunpowder residue?"

"Gunpowder?" Ducky lifted his eyebrows. "Surely, I can do a test right now…"

The little stick, dipped into a clear liquid, changed its colour almost immediately. "Well, I'll be damned…" Ducky murmured, exchanging a look with Gibbs. "Petty Officer Sieger shot someone at the crime scene," Gibbs concluded grimly. Whirling around, he rushed out of the autopsy, leaving both a startled Palmer and an intrigued Ducky behind.

"We'll get him Ducky – I'm sure we'll get him now," they heard his voice from the hallway, and then just the soft *bing* of the elevator.

* * *

_Interrogation rooms 2+3 in NCIS HQ | same day | 10:36 am_

"You can't keep me here. I have _rights_!" Ziva smiled in amusement. Her prisoner hadn't said anything the entire way here, dressed only in a blanket she had thrown down to DiNozzo. Now the young John Doe was sitting in Interrogation 2, dressed in one of the NCIS-overalls. At least he was finally clothed – sort of – but the thought that he had absolutely nothing underneath that thing… Well, he hopefully wouldn't get too comfortable.

"I can keep you here for exactly 48 hours without pressing charges, Mr…." She lifted her eyebrows, clicking with her pen. _Once, twice_.

"I want a lawyer." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not saying anything without my lawyer present. So go get me one." Ordering her around took balls, but Ziva saw right through his brave face. He was scared. She clicked her pen again. Three times. A fourth time. Imaptiently.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Because this country is a dictatorial police state, where innocent people are treated like criminals?"

It took all her restraint to not punch him on the nose. She knew about dictatorships. She knew about democracy as well. Ziva was proud to be an American now. She still loved the country she had been born in, but she was happy to be here, to live here. This country was her new home; the people she worked with were her family. And that spoiled little brat in front of her, who had never seen hardship in his life, thought it was a good idea to waste her precious time and get cheeky! He reminded her a little bit of DiNozzo. Maybe it was because she had seen him have sex, maybe because of his attitude – staring in the face of reality and denying its existence. Either way, he made her angry.

"You are here because we caught you trespassing on private property, and when we told you to stay put, you ran. And you _punched_ my partner." Nobody punched DiNozzo, except her maybe!

"You were holding guns! For all I knew you could have been there to kill us. And that guy tackled me, he started it!"

"We were showing you our badges!" Ziva hit the table with her flat hand, her eyes glowing in their sockets. The prisoner flinched. _Good_. She had nothing on him, but she'd see if she could make that clown talk out of pure fear.

"I can easily book you on the charges of interfering with a federal investigation." He furrowed his brows, but before he could stammer something about his right to remain silent, she talked on. "I was just going to ask you a few routine questions. We already have our guy on the murder, or we could have him, but you know what keeps most scumbags out of jail? I'm going to tell you. It is a little beauty called 'reasonable doubt'. You know that term? It means that if the judge and the jury have any cause to doubt the culprit's guilt, he walks. But you know how it works in this country, don't you?" Her voice was sweet now; she didn't need to give it an imminent undertone to scare the crap out of the guy. And she knew it. "We have to book _someone_ on the murder. If we don't, we get bad ratings in the statistics. We don't like those, and with all the other agencies around, we can't have that, can we? So what we do is, we turn to the idiot who stopped our investigation short, and we book _him_ instead."

She had stood up while talking, slowly walking around the table. Occasionally, she would click her pen, just in order to underline her words. Now she was standing directly behind him, leaning over his shoulder imminently she could whisper in his ear. "You're looking on 25 to life, unless you talk to me."

Tony entered the adjoining room, interrogation 3. It took a little balancing act to close the door behind him without spilling coffee from any of the two cups he was holding, but he managed it. Skill comes with practice, or how Ziva would probably have put it, '_kill comes with practice_'. Hell, he even started to think about how she could twist an idiom! A definite sign that he was spending too much time with her, Tony mused, while putting one of the mugs in front of the girl. Young woman. Whatever. She was pretty, blond, her hair was a little bit messed up and her makeup had probably seen better days (due to her coming right out of bed), but otherwise… quite cute. Tony had a saying about women and murders, so he didn't believe in her innocence. Not yet. Letting her trust that she wasn't a suspect, though, might make things a hell lot easier.

"I'm sorry about your eye," the girl told him, taking the mug in both hands. _Good, we have her prints_.

"Well, it wasn't your fault," he answered friendlily, flinching inwardly when he thought about how it had to look. _Really sexy, Mr. Pinkeye._ "Why don't you tell me everything you know, and we'll see how fast we can get you back home? Miss…"

"Deborah Wilson." She flushed. "Does it happen to you often that you… well…" – "What?" Tony smirked. "Bust into a bedroom or get punched in the face?"

She blushed even more, but she also smiled. He was flirting slightly with her, and she was digging it. "Both."

He took time for his response, giving it playfully. "Very seldom and not half as rarely as you'd think." He winked at her, getting back to the case at hand. "Could you please tell me what you were doing in that apartment? And I don't mean what exactly, but rather… why there and not, say, in your own place." – "Actually, it _is_ my place. Sort of. I mean, I pay half of the rent. It's my boyfriend's place." She had that whole sexy innocence thing going on, smiling at him, battering her eyelashes at the exact right key moments, keeping the mug a tiny bit too long at her full lips when drinking. Hell, she was good. And she knew it. Tony smiled, more to himself than to her, but she probably thought her whole game was working.

"And your boyfriend is that… guy… who was with you today?" – "No, _gosh_, no." She put the cup down, brushing back her hair in a halfway guilty fashion, then she leaned in forward and told him with conspiratorially hushed voice: "He's just some guy I work with, you know. He's nice and all, but nothing serious."

Tony cleared his throat. "Alright, so, what's your boyfriend's name?" – "Ronald Sieger, but everyone just calls him Ron." – "And how… _serious_… are things with him? If you don't mind my asking?" Tony leaned forward too, giving her the most flirtatious Italian smile he could manage. "Pretty serious," she moved her face a little bit closer to his, winding a lock of her long hair around her finger, "but you know how it is… he is on deployment most of the time, and nothing's carved in stone…" She was almost close enough to kiss him now, Tony actually leaned in a little bit more. "And does Ron know that too?"

She froze. Tony staid in his position, talking very calmly, his voice lowered to a sexy dark register. "Does Ron approve of you having an affair, Deborah?" She jolted back, her face absolutely perplexed. "Did he… what… no, he doesn't approve. I mean, he doesn't know, of course!"

Tony grinned, sitting back as well. "Of _course_ not." The sarcasm was quite audible. He hated cheating women. "So here is what I'm thinking happened. Romeo comes home after a long deployment, comes in and finds Juliet and Mercutio getting right at it. Romeo freaks out, wants to throw Juliet out of their comfortable little nest, but she refuses, and in an attempt to help his lady friend, Mercutio rushes in and kills Romeo. Then they throw his body into the harbour and sail away into the sunset happily ever after. Am I about right?"

Deborah looked at him, still frozen, her mouth clapped open in protest, but there was no sound.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand you." Tony lifted his brows. "You were saying?"

"Okay, stop, stop, I'll tell you anything." She had him, right where she wanted him to be. "I'll tell you anything, please, but I swear to you, I didn't murder anyone! Hell, I don't even know who's dead!"

Ziva smiled to herself, got back to her seat and opened the file, putting a crime-scene photo of the victim right in front of her 'suspect'. "Petty Officer Ronald Sieger, the man whose apartment you misused for intercourse. He was found dead yesterday." – "What… what happened to his face?"

Ziva smile grew grim. She loved this part; it was like being a cat and playing with a mouse! "Oh, this is what a face looks like when you punch it, again and again, until your victim stops breathing. He was beat to death. That is second degree murder. But we'll put our good effort into it. Maybe we can get you first degree, if we think really hard and push some police dictatorship buttons."

"No, no you can't… I…" He looked perfectly green around the nose. "I think I'm gonna be sick…" Now he really was where she wanted to have him.

"Well, you could still get away with some minor charges… but you know, that completely lies with your cooperation. So, let's start over." She clicked her pen for some more times, watched his flinching contently. "What's your name?"

"Ron is dead?!" Tears sprang to her eyes. Tony frowned slightly, watching her reaction closely. She wasn't faking it. Crying now, after betraying her boyfriend, might seem implausible, but maybe she had still loved Sieger, in her own twisted kind of way. "He… but…"

She obviously had forgotten about the murder charges on behalf of guilt and grief. Tony sighed, went out and got her a package of Kleenex. He hated women crying even more than he hated women cheating, but it had been the safest way to determine whether or not she was a black widow. Even if she was innocent on the murder, she was still a lying, cheating bitch. He wasn't going to let her off the hook easily.

"You always invite your lovers over to your boyfriend's place?" – "I already told you," she blew her nose, "it's my place too." – "Not according to the landlady it isn't." – "That old bat… yeah, she wasn't too big on Ron having women stay over. Wanted to keep a nice building, something like that. Totally Puritan. So she wouldn't have given us the place if she knew we were living together, you know, with us not being married and all."

Tony nodded slowly. "You still paid half the rent? If I look into this, I'll find nothing fishy?" – "Actually…" She squirmed in her chair. "Actually Ron paid most of it, I just gave him a smaller share. I couldn't afford a place like this, but he was loaded." Her face grew redder while she admitted it. "I'm not a gold-digger or anything, I work as a bartender, I gave him all I could afford, you can look into it!" – "Oh, we will. Did Ron ever mention where he got all that money from? A large inheritance, maybe?" Now she looked confused. "Why, he just got a lot of money from the navy, he couldn't tell me what for, but I'm not stupid. With him always coming back with fresh injuries, having to work even when he wasn't on deployment, most of the time vanishing for several days… he was in Black Ops, wasn't he?"

Tony widened his eyes only so slightly; then he nodded slowly. "I'll definitely look into that. Do you have any idea if he had any firearms at his place?" – "No, sorry, I don't know that. But have you looked into the safe underneath our bed? It's hidden in the wall, so you can't see it if you don't move the entire bed. I'm pretty sure, if he tried to hide something from me, he'd put it there. I only found it by accident one time, when I was cleaning. He wouldn't tell me what was in there, grew really angry though when I asked. I never had a key, so I couldn't look for myself. I assumed it was porn or something…"

"That's actually very helpful." Tony took out a picture of William Callahan this time, placing it in front of her. "Have you ever seen _him_, around your apartment or with Ron?" She took it up, looked at it closely. "He's really cute… but no, I haven't seen him. Who is he?" – "He might be a witness."

The very special agent looked over his notes, nodded. "Looks like we're almost done, Miss Wilson. I'll just need your whereabouts yesterday…"

Both agents met in the hallway, exchanging notes. "Either they are really good liars, or they're telling the truth," Tony concluded. "Just some stupid cheaters in the right place at the wrong time and with a perfect alibi for the entire day yesterday, visiting that Spar Hotel in Baltimore."

Ziva nodded. "Yes, I'll check with the Spar, but I'm pretty sure that bastard couldn't even lie to my face convincingly if his life _really_ depended on it. So we're no closer to finding the gun? Or a motive, or a connection to Callahan?" Ziva sighed, ignoring Tony's open mouth as she said '_really_ afraid for his life'. "Talking to that impertinent little idiot was a complete waste of time then?"

Her partner grinned mischievously. "Well… I don't know about your guy, whom you obviously scared with your ninja skills to no end, but actually…" He turned around, starting to walk down the hallway. "What, what is it?" Ziva rushed after him, trying to catch up. "What have you found out?" – "I'll have to call the squad at our vic's home." – "You know where he hid the gun?" – "Let's just say… I have a good feeling where we might find some more clues."

* * *

_Bullpen in NCIS HQ | same day | 11:45 am_

"Alibis check out, we have to let them go." Ziva fell silent, looking at Tony.

"We had the safe transported over here, but there's no gun in it, either, boss. Just some more faked passports, another pack of ammunition and thousand dollars in cash. Should we get back to the apartment, tear the place apart?"

Gibbs shook his head. "That's what forensics is for; I need you two back on the crime scene."

"To do what?" Tony gave Gibbs a quizzical look. "We already looked all over that place, there's nothing else there, just toilet…"

"Enough with that toilet paper, DiNozzo", Gibbs slapped him on the back of his head. "Take Ziva, don't come back until you found the slug."

"No more looking for the gun, Gibbs?" Ziva was already halfway to her desk, hastily Tony went to gather his belongings as well.

"Killer took the gun, Ziva." – "That actually… makes a lot of sense except for…" Ziva hesitated to remark the logic problem they had run into beforehand. Why would Sieger allow Callahan to kill him if he had a gun? Why would he hit Callahan if he had a gun? Why would Callahan kill someone with his bare hands, if he could just as well take that guy's gun and shoot him?

Gibbs' orders came quickly and precisely. "Find the slug. Find out why the hell Sieger brought a gun and then decided to engage in a fisticuff fight instead of just shooting his killer. GO!"

Both agents darted for the elevator, not even debating the impossibility of the task he had just given them.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" The silver-haired agent turned around, faced Abby, who rushed towards him, some paperwork in her hand. "Gibbs, I found something! Why didn't you come down, are you losing your powers?" Gibbs lifted his eyebrows. "I had to listen to DiNozzo and David blabbering on about how they found me nothing useful so far. I was just going to come down to you, Abbs."

"Okay, so should we go down or stay here or…" – "Abby, just tell me. What is it?" Abby almost jumped up and down in excitement. "It's a good thing. I think. Well, it could also be not so good; it's definitely not good for the killer. Not at all. But I think it's good for us."

Gibbs glared at her.

"Okay, so I ran the blood samples again after you asked me to determine how much blood belonged to whom. And that wasn't exactly simple, because I had to do a lot of blood tests on each stain, and there were quite some stains…"

"Numbers, Abbs!"

"Approximately 93,4% of the blood wasn't Sieger's. It's all AB-, which means…"

"He injured Callahan."

"Exactly. He would have had to treat himself in some way, theirs is not way he'd just walk of that much of an injury. It's almost magical how he didn't leave any blood trace when he fled the crime scene. Maybe he is a genius after all…"

Gibbs interrupted her sharply. "How much blood are we talking?"

"I'd say one and a half, maybe two litres? That's like…"

"0.4 to 0.5 gallons or 1500 to 2000 cc."

Abby proudly presented another comparism of the amount of bleeding. "That's double to three times what you lose when you donate blood."

"He couldn't have made it far."

"That's what I thought too!"

Abby whirled around, her black rattails dancing on her shoulders. She froze in her movement when she noticed the person who had just arrived. "McGee!" She waved to the young agent coming into the bullpen, and rushed towards him, hugging him. "You're back!"

"You're sick, McGee, what're you doing at work?" Gibbs didn't even bother to greet his subordinate, but came right down to the point.

"Tony called me, he said you were working a case. He actually left me a message on voicemail… and three emails." McGee still was a little flushed and short of breath, his voice sounded seriously roughed up.

"Nothing we can't handle. Go home, get your rest, come back when you're fine." – "I'm okay, boss, actually I get cabin fever in my flat. My mum keeps calling me with ideas how to treat this thing… Half of them is 'go get sleep'. And my little sister came to 'look after me', then she ate all my cereal and played World of Warcraft for the entire…" McGee cut himself short. ""Well that's not important, actually."

"Your mum's a wise woman."

"I slept for an entire day! Please, boss… I need to work."

Gibbs nodded. "Alright, you can start by calling every single hospital in town, all the doctors, and all the vets. Find me _that guy_." He motioned to the big screen, where a picture of Will Callahan was still looking down upon them. "He's gonna be pretty messed up. I want a squad car over there immediately to detain him, and then you call me directly, understood?"

"You got it, boss." McGee turned on his computer and tried to suppress a cough. "Oooh, poor Timmy…" Abby rushed over to him, hugging him closely again. "I'll go get you some tea, okay?"

"I'm fine, Abbs!"

"Abby, don't you have work to do downstairs?" Gibbs shooed her towards the elevator, ignoring McGee's next cough as best he could. When he came back to the bullpen, he took a bottle of water from Tony's desk and put it in front of his youngest, highly motivated agent. "Fluids, McGee – drink lots of fluids!"


End file.
